Build Me Up
by Emancipated Rebels
Summary: Are the newly-wed Darcys prepared for what life has in store for them? Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam face the trials that all married couples must, with perhaps a few unique ones as well. It is whether or not they'll get through them that is in question.
1. Business

First off, let it be known that this is not a work of both Stephie and I (Raven) - to the contrary, it is simply my own. It occurred to me that what will our plotting and conversing with every chapter of Take My Breath, it could be quite a wait between them, and so this is more meant to satiate your infallible hunger than anything else! I do acknowledge that this is Pride and Prejudice and not Pirates of the Caribbean, however, take note as well that it takes place around roughly the same time with a distinct British setting, and the protagonists are Fitzwilliam (Will, anyone?) and Elizabeth. I do not think myself terribly farfetched when I say that if you are a fan of one, you are likely a fan of the other, so perhaps this will tide you over.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pride and Prejudice, nor any of its subsequent characters, dialogue, or plot lines.

Warning: Rated **M **for sexuality and adult themes.

* * *

Elizabeth woke with a luxurious stretch that could only be the result of spending so many hours in the same position - which was not terribly hard to conceive, really, as she had found shortly after their marriage four months ago that Fitzwilliam Darcy's arms were her favorite place in the world.

At first, as she blinked back fatigue to remind herself that she had _finished_ sleeping and therefore her body was misguided in assuming she needed to do so, she could not remember exactly what had woken her. The sun had not yet made an appearance but was rather hovering in the horizon, just out of sight, so that the sky was an eerie pale blue that was stuck somewhere between night and day.

"Elizabeth."

At the raspy, perhaps-still-slumbering voice in her year, the subject being summoned - or rather, named, she supposed - recalled that this was the second, at least, time that her parent-given title had been stated, for it was the first time that had woken her in the first place.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy?" she could not help but ask in amusement. She was thoroughly convinced, now, that her dearest husband suffered from the same sort of affinity that the sky did. He was neither asleep nor awake, and she wondered if he even knew that he was speaking.

He pulled her tighter to him, burying his face in his wife's chestnut curls. "Let's sleep all day," he groaned, and she realized with a start that perhaps she had been incorrect. Was it possible that her beloved could speak in so thick a tone and yet be awake? She carefully turned over in his arms so that she was facing him and found that his eyes were still closed. He was still tired, then (as if his request had not given that away), but certainly coherent.

"I hardly think that would be appropriate, Mr. Darcy," she chastised. Had his eyes been open, he would have seen the mocking grin on her face, but as it was, her husband was disappointedly thinking that she was serious.

"Appropriate?" he demanded, his voice a mixture between a growl and a grumble. "We're married! There is nothing inappropriate any more!"

Elizabeth could help it no longer; she fell into a fit of giggles and he rather unenthusiastically opened his eyes.

"I mean it, Lizzy," he moaned. "I don't want to get up."

"Are you tell me," she began slowly, her eyes glittering but her smile repressed, "that the noble businessman I had been so willing to wed is in fact a lazy rich man with no affinity for the work to be done?"

"Big words, Lizzy," he muttered. "I couldn't hear half of them."

She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to inform him that he most certainly _had_ heard her and that he could not hope to gain her sympathy for his clear plight of exhaustion. However, she suddenly found lips descending upon her own, and recalled with an instant sense of awareness that they had fallen asleep naked the night before to partake in acts that, she would dare say, society would, in fact, find rather inappropriate - outside the confines of their own bedroom, of course.

Unable to do anything otherwise (more because of the fact that she had no desire to than the fact that he had rolled over and she was no trapped beneath him) she returned the kiss with a passion and determination that most men would not be fortunate enough to even imagine of their wives.

When the deed was done - and it most certainly was done - Elizabeth found herself in the same position she had been in before it started, though this time her skin shined with perspiration and her breaths came in choppy, ragged intakes of breath. If he had not been fully awake before, Darcy certainly was now, his own body fairly shuddering as he caressed her face lovingly, meeting her wide amber eyes with his own intense blue ones.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice hoarse but gentle all at once.

She kissed him, softly this time, as a response, and he sighed, pulling her body as close to his as it seemed they could get.

"I have some business in town today," he finally admitted. Elizabeth felt immediately the rush of disappointment that always occurred when she discovered her husband was to be absent for any period of time, but she buried it immediately. For all her teasing, Mr. Darcy was anything but lazy; in fact, she rather aspired to convince him some day to refrain from working at all, which had, up to that moment, proven a rather impossible task.

"How long will you be gone?" she asked, unable to help the almost child-like pout that crept into her normally esteemed voice.

He kissed her forehead and grinned, clearly not put out by the fact that his wife was often every bit as needy as a child might be. "I will be back before sundown," he assured her, "but not likely far away from that."

Elizabeth sighed and accepted this with a simple nod and a begrudging, "All right." Noting his displeasure at her rather ineffectual agreement, she added, "Will you be breaking fast with me, at least?"

She didn't need to see his grimace to understand his answer - silence, after all, was the loudest form of communication.

"I shall expect flowers," she informed him vivaciously, her own lips twitching into a smile. "Perhaps it will repair the hole in my heart that is to be torn by my husband's negligence."

He shook his head, trying not to betray how comical he found her, and rolled out of bed to begin getting dress. "I'll be sure to dote on you even more than usual tonight," he promised with a rather suggestive wink, and despite the fact that she was still warm from their most recent _engagement_, she felt a blush creep into her cheeks.

She laid her head back on the pillow and watched him dress, and when he looked up from tugging on his pants and noticed how her eyes were fixed upon him, he very nearly stripped them off again and returned to bed with her.

"Do you have any idea," he grumbled, running a hand through his tossed hair, "how difficult you make it to leave when you look at me that way?"

Genuinely startled, Elizabeth blinked twice. "Whatever are you talking about, Fitzwilliam?"

He scrutinized her, attempting to decipher if she was teasing or not. He shook his head in bemusement upon coming to the conclusion that she really was confused, but made no attempt to explain it to her; he simply chuckled to himself and finished getting dressed.

* * *

Elizabeth fluttered and paced about the room by candlelight, impatient and, despite herself, concerned. The sun had just disappeared, and though she fully understood that her husband had probably simply been kept longer than he had anticipated and would likely be home at any moment, that did not ease the nerves that she had no doubt inherited from her much-cherished mother.

As much as she wanted him home, she was at loathe to think that he should be traveling the roads in the dark. A man of his stature had few people in the world that he need be concerned about when it came to physical capability, but even so, the idea that he could be hurt anyway, or that more than one person could assault him, or that one of the horses would run astray and tip the carriage... She simply couldn't bare to think of it, but neither could she halt the thoughts as she occurred.

She began to walk back and forth through the room like a cornered feline, determined to do so until he returned. She knew she would not be able to sleep otherwise - and that, if fatigue somehow consumed her and she did, in fact, find herself nestled in the unpredictability (or, in this case, predictability) of the dream-world, she would be ambushed by nothing but the absolute most dreadful of nightmares until she should be fortunate to wake up.

It was after a solid ten minutes of this pacing that she began to fidget, needing something to do with her hands. In her panic, which she had to admit seemed to be a bit dramatic even for her but was no less real, she began to feel extremely warm, and the more she wandered about, fixing the corners of bedsheets and straightening the vanity and refolding the garments in their dresser, the hotter it seemed to become.

For several moments, Elizabeth wondered if she might have a fever and considering waking Mrs. Reynolds, then decided against the idea. Whatever afflicted her clearly was not so malicious in nature that it could not wait until morning, especially since she had already bid her faithful servants goodnight.

A desperate glance around the room showed everything to be in perfect order; there was nothing further to be toyed with and fixed. She seemed to look through it, object by object, convinced that there must be _something_ she had missed, something, _anything_, that she could continue to busy her mind with.

She found it in the form of an ornate white vase on the counter-like shelf that ran for a short span along the wall of the left side of the room. It had intricate gold designs on it and it occurred to her that those designs may not be facing outward in the best position for the married couple to admire them best, and so she eagerly made her way over to fix such a horrible blunder.

Curious as to what the designs actually were, she lifted the vase to examine it. However, even as she did so and her eyes caught sight of the lovely job someone had done on the beautiful ceramic, the corners of her vision appeared to turn gray. She attempted to blink it back for half a moment, shocked, until she felt as though hot tea was being run through her very veins. She let out a loud gasp, but that was all she could manage before the vase dropped to the ground and, on top of its shards, the mistress of the estate fell as well.

Her last fleeting thought was that Fitzwilliam ought to be home soon, and he would surely find her.

* * *

Darcy muttered a curse to the unforgiving night sky as he road as quickly as he could manage back towards their house. It was many hours since sundown, and guilt wracked through him at his failure to return to his wife at the time he had given. It could not be helped, really - the man with whom he was supposed to meet had been unavailable for hours, delaying their discussion but in no way diminishing the amount of time required for it.

Thankfully, it was quite the short ride to the Pemberly estate, for while he was not afraid of the dark nor what it held, he rather disliked the idea of the concept of surprise it represented. Darcy, in general, did not favor surprises - he preferred upfront convictions that could be considered and dealt with on the spot as opposed to having no time to think, and only time to react.

He unlocked quickly the huge front doors and burst through them, into the house. It was completely dark, so he could only assume that Elizabeth had already retreated to her room. A glance at the timepiece on the wall revealed it to be nearly three o'clock in the morning, and he winced, partially hoping that she would be awake so he could apologize but also hoping that she would be asleep so that she wouldn't know how late he really had come in.

In the pitch-black setting, he found himself having to work by memory to get to his room, which was of no consequence to him; this wasn't the first night in all of the years that he had lived there that he had returned after dark.

As Darcy entered his room, he noted that the light, here, was out as well. He breathed a sigh of relief, taking solace in the fact that Elizabeth was already asleep, and shut the door as softly as possible behind him before creeping over to the bed. He felt around to make sure he would not be laying on top of any of her limbs and laid down on top of the blankets to stroke her hair, not even bothering to get undressed.

The problem being that he found no such hair.

He had reached his arm out to run a finger down her cheek, but his hand only met the pillow, and a quick run of his arm down the length of his bed told him that there was no other entity in his bed beside himself. A cold stone seemed to drop in his stomach.

Forcing himself to move slowly - perhaps she had fallen asleep in the living area and he simply hadn't noticed her in the dark? - he rolled over to get off the bed on the opposite side that he had rolled onto it with. However, when he pressed his foot to the ground, he was more than slightly shocked to feel a sharp, stabbing pain as something cut it. He jerked back onto the bed, cussing and trying rather futilely to see his wound in the darkness.

Knowing that the other side of the bed, at least, was safe, he gingerly placed both feet on the floor and moved to the front of the room to light the candle-torch - which, to his surprise, still had a measure of liquid wax in it, as if it had blown out of its own accord not terribly long ago...

With a feeling of dread, he slowly turned around to see what he had cut his foot on, and in the light of the candle, he felt his chest lurch. Elizabeth lay there on the ground, ashen and with bits of the once-beautiful vase all around and, he realized to his horror, even beneath her.

He nearly tripped in his effort to rush to her and got down on his knees, ignoring the pieces of the vase that pressed into them and, even through his pants, no doubt drew blood. "Elizabeth!" he whispered, his voice a perfect reflection of the utter panic that had taken over him. "Elizabeth, can you hear me? Wake up, my love!"

As he pleaded with her, he lifted her swiftly to the bed, uncertain if he should leave her to fetch Mrs. Reynolds, or stay until she woke up, or perhaps take her with him -

"Fitzwilliam?"

He looked down to see her stirring, her eyes opening slowly as color returned to her face. He nearly wept.

"Elizabeth! What happened?" he demanded fiercely, all too concious of the blood that stained his hands and shirt from the dozens of tiny cuts that covered her.

She slowly began to completely regain her wits and, with his (unneeded) assistance, sat up. "I don't remember," she told him earnestly.

"Stay here. I'm going to send someone for the physician -"

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head to clear it. "No, please, don't. The heat simply got to me, I believe - I remember feeling dreadfully hot..." She looked to the vase on the ground, and the color that had been building in her cheeks drained once more.

Darcy did not fail to notice this. "What is it, Elizabeth? Do you remember something else?" He felt his heart beat a bit faster. What if someone had broken in? What if they had done something to her? And what of the other ser -

"I broke the vase," she murmured in horror. He looked about ready to throttle her.

"Damn the vase!" he all but roared. "What _happened_ here?"

She jumped as he shouted and he immediately regretted it but said nothing, waiting for her to answer.

"I remember," she murmured with a sigh. "Yes, it was the heat - I was pacing, you see, and I suppose that that mixed with such a hot night did not agree with me."

Her husband did not look satisfied. "Please, Lizzy, allow the doctor to come and see you."

She shook her head firmly. "No, no," she insisted fervently. "I'm just fine now, see?"

And, despite his doubts, he did have to incredulously note that she seemed to be perfectly normal. A hand held to her forehead - which, she noticed with no little surprise, was cold to the touch and covered in sweat - and he determined her to be without a fevor, and he had to admit that it was, in fact, a rather hot night.

"At least for your cuts," he muttered, still inspecting her for the slightest hint that there was something else amiss.

"All very small," she reminded him keenly. She could feel them, now, sharp and covering her side, arms, and chest.

"But -"

"What is the physician going to do?" she countered. "Cover my body in bandages? I hardly think that would do any good except to deny me any hope to function until they come off."

With a bit more persuading and against his better judgement, Darcy lamented. He set to the unpleasant task of helping her undress, and it was harder to say who it was more painful for - every time she winced, so did he. He considered bringing up that their might be a piece of the vase stuck within one of the cuts, but he knew that her reply would be that it would simply come out of its own accord, and he didn't wish to upset her, lest she have another... spell.

He undressed himself without looking away from her, as if to ensure that nothing would happen without his knowledge. She didn't seem to notice, having closed her eyes, and if it weren't for the fact that her breathing was a tad too steady, he would have thought her asleep. He numbly crawled in beside her, wondering again how he had allowed her to convince him to not run for elp that very moment, for even now, that was what he fought the urge to do.

Careful as it he could be to not inflict any pain on her, he slid one arm beneath her head and put the other overtop of both her and the blanket he had pulled overtop of them.

* * *

I am decently confident with this start. However, feedback is always appreciated. I would love (as all other fanfiction writers would, I'm sure) for you to review!

My highest regards,

Raven, Emancipated Rebels


	2. Holy Fiasco

**Warning: Lemon.** If you don't wish to read it, you may simply skip through the first section.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pride and Prejudice, nor any of its subsequent characters, dialogue, or plot lines.

Warning: Rated **M **for sexuality and adult themes.

* * *

When Elizabeth arose Tuesday morning from the dreamless sleep she had been so engaged in, it was of her own accord rather than the prodding of her husband. She opened her eyes slowly, trying to remember precisely what had happened the night before - which, admittedly, did not take very long. Darcy was already awake and sitting up though she guessed, based on the light flowing through the cracks in the curtains, that it was somewhere around noon.

She felt her face blush crimson, horrified that she could have slept so late. Her thoughts were efficiently cut off as Darcy gently ran a hand through her hair, pushing several strands behind her ear.

"Good morning," he murmured, and though such soft greetings were not uncommon for him, she could not understand the searching look he gave her, even after she remembered what had transpired in their bedroom.

"It does not seem to be morning any more," she muttered drily.

He chose not to comment on this and gently scooped her up. She became wide-awake immediately and incredulously inquired as to what, exactly, he was doing with her - after all, her legs were still more than capable.

"Today is just as hot as it was yesterday," he reminded, a teasing smile warring with a concerned one. "You cannot lose your balance if you have none to worry about losing." While this made perfect sense, she was at loathe to simply allow him to cart her around all day, and was just getting to say so when he added, "Mrs. Reynolds has been drawing you a cool bath, regardless, so that we can rinse out your cuts."

It was hard to argue with that - she could feel the bits of blood caked all over her, and it was rather discomforting at the least. The sharpness there had been last night barely existed any more, and with the exceptions being the few that were being sorely pressed upon by her husband's chest and arms, they did not even hurt.

Still, she found herself rather self-conciously asking, "What did you tell her?"

He could not help but softly chuckle at her. "I told her only that you had dropped a vase and been cut by it," he assured her.

Elizabeth nodded, mostly placated. Mrs. Reynolds appeared to have finished, because when they arrived, the claw-foot bathtub was full and she was nowhere in sight. Darcy wasted no time setting her down and helping her to undress completely - leaving his own garments on, of course - and then helping her into it.

Lifting a small washtowel, he gently began to wipe away the hints of blood that so conspicuously marred her normally-perfect skin. Elizabeth closed her eyes as he did so, barely even feeling it and hardly able to believe he was making much progress with such light pressure.

Because of this, he had been done for a good minute or so before she actually noticed, and even then only because she heard the rustle of fabric as his pants descended to his ankles, marking the end of his undressing. She felt her cheeks light up, no doubt as they always would whenever they engaged - she never could seem to get used to him.

With a mischevious grin that no one would suspect if they were to see him in a business meeting or even in the presence of strangers, he lowered himself into the tub. The water rose over the brim and Elizabeth yelped that his clothing was going to get soaked, but before she could finish the sentence - he had a habit, it seemed, of interrupting her for such matters - he began to kiss her roughly, his hands running madly through the hair at her neck.

Elizabeth gasped, even through the kiss, and slowly leaned back into the water. He kept her head faithfully above it, even as he moved from her lips to her jawline and trailed downwards until he was kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin of her neck. Her breath came in pants or sometimes not at all if she held it as he lowered his mouth even further down until he was kissing the top of her breast.

A soft moan bubbled from her throat as he moved straight down to her nipple, by now hard as a pearl. As the water made miniscule waves, the object of his attention (and, subsequently, his mouth) would at times find itself submerged in water, but if Darcy noticed, he made no show of it. His arms still supporting her to make sure that she didn't find herself inhaling the aforementioned water, his tongue began to lightly trace the border where the darkest part of her breast met the normal, creamy skin that so decorated the rest of her body, but this wasn't enough for him for long; within seconds, it seemed, he had taken her entire nipple into his mouth, sucking and flitting his tongue over it.

As he shifted, the tip of his rather alert member seemed to brush her opening. He heard a sharp intake of air and lifted his head to make sure that he was causing her no pain, only to be met with dark, smoldering eyes that begged him to continue just as surely as they relayed color to her brain.

He did not appear to be so ready, however, and grinned lightly at her as he reclaimed her lips. This time, it was she who wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging as he ran his tongue along the border of her mouth, demanding entrance. It parted willingly and he eagerly thrust his tongue into the now-available cavern, exploring with absolute abandon.

Even as he did this, he was gently rocking his hips back and forth, allowing his erection to gently and repeatedly brush up against her most sensitive area in a tantalizing new form of foreplay. Elizabeth was nearly seeing spots and soon found herself wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, squeezing him in a silent plea to go further with it.

When he seemed to be interested in prolonging her agony, she decided that she, too, could play dirty. She unhitched her legs, eliciting a questioning grunt from him, and lowered her arm down to the space that was now free between their bodies. She touched her finger ever so gently to the top of his penis and then circled it around, and his reaction was instant; his groan was more of a roar, and she felt his body stiffen. He reached down to move her hand but she kept it in place, continuing the movement and moving to spread down the rest of it.

Trusting him not to let her sink, she lowered her other hand as well, and he found himself quite helpless to stop her as both of his arms were busy keeping her up. "Lizzy," he growled at her, his eyes so intense that it was nearly a glower. She lifted her lips to his as her hands continued to stroke and tease until she actually felt him shudder, at which point she brought her hands back up to encircle his neck, her legs resuming their position around his waist.

He wasted no time, holding her firmly and shoving the entirety of his length inside of her. The muscle within her contracted around his hard appendage and she pushed back up against him until she was certain that every millimeter was in fact within her, and he muttered a hoarse curse. She pretended, for propriety's sake, that she had not heard it, for she was not even certain he was aware he had spoken, so enraptured by their connection was he.

Slowly, he began to pull back out of her, only to thrust back into her almost immediately. They continued at a steadily rising pace, having completely abandoned kissing or any other movement by now; he held her crushed to her chest and she felt her nails scrape against the back of his shoulders, her eyes shut and her breath hitching dangerously with the force of her ectasy.

The sharp pain he felt on his upper back seemed to break him, for suddenly he was going in, out, in, and out faster than she could keep track of, the water spilling out over at least one side of the tub at all times until, finally, Elizabeth screamed his name with a desperation that could be the result of nothing else. Within seconds, he found his own release, clinging to her so hard that he was bruising the skin on her back with his fingers as he shuddered with it and then, finally, seemed to collapse on top of her.

For several minutes or so, neither of them spoke. Darcy gently flipped them over, his back up against the side of the tub so that Elizabeth could rest her head on his chest as they laid there. Finally, he ran his finger down her cheek and lovingly murmured, "You're beautiful."

Still too winded to respond, Elizabeth tilted her head back to look at him instead with a small smile. If he didn't know any better, he would say she was starting to fall asleep again - which he would have no problem with, except that it was so very out of character for her, especially since she had only just woken up. Then again, he reminded himself, their lovemaking had been much more exerting than it normally was, and even he felt the fuzziness of fatigue in the corners of his mind.

They laid there for another ten minutes or so before finally rising and drying themselves off to go on with their day.

* * *

Elizabeth wearily rose to her feet with the rest of the occupants of the church to sing yet another hymn. For whatever the reason - perhaps the fact that it was raining so intensely outside - the day seemed to be dragging on like no other. While she quite enjoyed the excitement that storms brought, today it was so thick that they had nearly been unable to attend mass (which, she was starting to think, might indeed have been a good thing).

The boredom that assailed her mind was nearly incomprehensible, and she felt as if she was completely detached, singing but barely knowing what words were actually coming out of her mout. She didn't seem to be the only one with such feelings - in fact, a quick look around revealed that nearly all of the inhabitants were making impatient gestures, shifting their weight or rolling their eyes as the song dragged on. It was one they had all heard before and knew to take a good five minutes before they were to be put out of their misery, and with the session not even halfway over, Elizabeth wondered if they ought not just sneak out. Being in the center of a pew as they were, that would likely be all but impossible, but she could not help but wish.

Georgiana, who stood to her left, met her gaze and broke out in a smile when she saw her sister to be just as uninterested as she. They both looked to Mr. Darcy to Elizabeth's right, who glanced at them out of the corner of his eye. The corner of his lip twitched but that was all they could get from him to reveal his amusement, and at the clicking tongue of a woman that stood behind them, they looked forward again and dutifully returned to the hymn.

This time, the sensation was rather abrupt.

One moment, Elizabeth was singing as her only defense against the tediousness that threatened to rust her wit, and the next, heat suddenly seemed to flow through her at a far more extreme rate than it had nearly a week before. She fought it for less than a second, her body going limp as she fell towards the ground.

Mr. Darcy caught a rather peculiar movement coming from his peripheral vision and turned his head slightly to inspect what was going on. As he watched his wife topple, he suddenly broke off the word he had been singing and cried, "Dear God - Elizabeth!"

The hymn book was dropped and he lunged to cover the short distance between them, catching her just before her head could hit the wood of the pew they had been sitting on. The people around him slowly began to stop singing as well, first startled by his shout - "dear God" was not exactly what you expect in such context while at Sunday mass - and then began the people near them had stopped, until the entire church had gone completely silent.

He didn't pay them any mind, shaking the fallen woman gently in his arms, his mind clouded in panic. This was the second time he had ever known his wife to faint, and within the same week! There was no possible way they weren't connected, and with the rain outside, it was far from hot, even with all of the people packed into the room.

As people began to crowd around, Darcy looked up, glowering fiercely at everyone unfortunate enough to be within his sight. "What are you standing there for?" he barked. "By God, someone fetch a physician!"

Trusting that he had been frightening enough for at least one person to see to his command - he generally had that effect on people - he returned to Elizabeth, whispering to her and fairly begging her to open her eyes and offer an explanation. His heart raced quicker than any horse ever could and thundered loudly in his ears, and he was so distracted that he didn't even notice Georgiana who was right on the other side of her, speaking to him and suggesting that he lay her down on the pew.

Another minute or so went by with people shouting to each other, speculating on what the problem could be and coming to the general consensus that the poor woman needed help, the blatancy of which made their sentiments more annoying than worthy of appreciation. It was in this turmoil that her eyelashes seemed to flutter, her eyelids finally opening as her eyes attempted to adjust to the light and steady themselves.

"Elizabeth," he whispered in no small amount of relief. "Back up!" he ordered to everyone around them when panic passed across her face at so many people standing around her.

"What's wrong?" Darcy asked more softly of the subject of all of the commotion.

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment and he nearly went into cardiac arrest, convinced that she was fainting again, but she opened them again seconds later and whispered, "Can't - breathe..." He stared, horrified by the very idea of something keeping his wife from drawing air, until he understood from her face what she meant: her stays. Having just swooned, she was breathing rather hard, and it was pressing up against her stays.

More concerned about her health than public opinion, he wasted no time, unclasping the back of her dress and pulling loose the lacing that held them so tight. The fact that she began inhaling so deeply was more relieving to him, surprisingly, than anything else could have been.

"Is she... is she quite all right?" A woman of no young age tentatively asked from the pew behind. Many disapproving glances were being thrown towards the couple, more at the fact that a man had been the one to release the binds than at the fact that it had been done. However, Darcy got the distinct impression that it was going to be overlooked - a societal faux pas that wouldn't be discussed because of its relation to an emergency situation.

"I don't know," he said shortly, his tone clipped without his intending it to be. He looked down at her, cradling her head and supporting the rest of her back with his other arm. "Elizabeth, are you ill? Does anything hurt?"

She shook her head. Her skin was slightly damp and her cheeks were rosy with color, but the heat was dissipating and she could feel her body slowly moving back towards its previous, normal state of being.

Georgiana had been wringing her hands nervously and was more than happy to leave when the physician appeared, granting him access.

"Lay her down," he said gruffly.

"I'm fine," Elizabeth objected breathily. By now, most of the color in her face was the result of sheer humiliation and nothing more. A sharp look from both the doctor and by her husband silenced her and she was laid across the (decidedly uncomfortable) plank of polished wood as if she were made of eggshell.

"I am Jacob Bentley," he introduced himself shortly, cutting straight to the point. "Are you dizzy?"

"No, not any more," she said meekly, looking everywhere but the eyes of the community that stared at her. Elizabeth was fairly certain, in fact, that some of them hadn't previously been in the church at all. She settled her gaze on her husband's face, disheveled with unrelenting fear. However, seeing her own uncertainty, he tried to offer her a reassuring smile.

"You were dizzy, then? Can you describe what happened for me?" The doctor was clearly unhappy, having been practically forcefully yanked from his home to attend to Mrs. Darcy. While he certainly knew of her and her husband, it was not any man's wish to be carted off like a bull. However, he was just as obviously efficient, so Darcy chose not to berate him for the short tone he was using with his wife.

"I got hot," she muttered. "I felt very warm, and then... Well, I don't know," she admitted. "And then I woke up."

"This has happened once before," her husband interjected. "This past Monday, she was out for quite some time."

At both her explanation and her spouse's addition to the event, some understanding seemed to pass over the man's face. "Are you able to walk, Mrs. Darcy?" he wanted to know.

Before she could respond, _Mr._ Darcy answered for her. "I'll carry her," he said simply, not bothering to look down at what he knew would be an indignant glare on Lizzy's face. "Where are we going?" he added with a bit more uncertainty. The good doctor seemed to have some idea of what was going on, but it was hard to decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing, especially since they were being asked to relocate.

Doctor Bentley frowned for a moment at the idea that a man could so nonchalantly talk about carrying his wife what could possibly be no small distance. However, noting the man's stature - well over six feet, he'd wager - and how small the woman was, he conceived that perhaps it was not just ego; he really did appear able to mantain his word.

"Did you bring a carriage?" he wanted to know. At the lift of Mr. Darcy's brow, he wrily thought, _Of course they did._ "Very well," he nodded. "There, then. I shall examine her at your estate."

A tick in his jaw was the only thing that gave away the worried husband's unhappiness with that plan. He was supposed to just sit there for half an hour, not having any idea what was wrong with his wife, so that Bentley could examine her at home? It made no sense at all to him, but he fought the urge to argue and nodded once, lifting Elizabeth seemingly effortlessly. Georgiana led the way, parting the crowd for him as Elizabeth buried her face in his shoulder and was carried to the carriage, then lifted in.

Darcy climbed in after her, sitting to the far side and insisting despite her avid protestations that she lay back down. If only to appease him and stop the arguing - she was far too tired to keep it up - she agreed, putting her head on his lap and closing her eyes.

Within the Darcy carriage, social rules seemed inapplicable. Georgiana made no fuss about sitting beisde Bentley, who was studying Elizabeth even as she simply laid there.

"Do we have reason to worry?" Darcy asked bluntly. He felt Elizabeth stiffen and it occurred to him for the first time that she was probably almost as scared as he was. Seeking to comfort her, he reached down and laced his fingers through hers, the other hand absentmindedly playing with her hair as he awaited a response.

Jacob Bentley seemed to consider this for several moments. It was impossible to give a yes or no answer; if she was indeed suffering from what he thought, the answer was no, but then again, it could be many different things as well. "I don't think so," was his profound reply.

Seeming frustrated by this response, Darcy nodded once, giving Elizabeth's hand a light squeeze of reassurance.

This, too, Bentley watched with interest. Darcy was, perhaps, the first truely concerned husband to this degree that he had ever met. He, himself, had a wife - and not even one that had been chosen for him. However, when she was ill, it was still more of an inconvenience than a call for alarm, just as it was for every other couple he'd treated. For whatever the reason, Darcy seemed genuinely terrified, and it was a new experience for the aging doctor - and not, he decided, a bad one.

"What are those cuts on her hand?" he asked suddenly, having just noticed them. They almost seemed like cat scratches, but they were too small and too far apart - nearly healed, too, in fact.

With a wince, Mr. Darcy responded, "The last time she fell, she landed on a vase."

Elizabeth, sensing that the eyes had all turned to her, seemed to squirm under the attention.

By the time they were ten minutes from their home, Elizabeth was nearly asleep and Darcy was close to pulling his hair out, desperate for answers. Georgiana was unable to help but notice and, though she had been quiet previously for the entire ride, asked, "Are you all right, brother?"

He nodded as an answer, but a look at his frantic eyes contradicted his unspoken statement. Georgiana nodded regardless and chose to let it sit, and the next minutes returned to silence.

When the carriage finally rolled to a halt, Darcy gently ran his hand along Elizabeth's upper arm. She awoke and slowly sat up, and this time Darcy got out first so that he could help her out.

Elizabeth shook her head as he went to pick her up a second time, informing him that her back hurt from its position in the carriage. To her mortification - but, on some level, relief, as she was beginning to wonder if she _could_ master the huge house, including its stairs - they found a compromise; she rested on his hip and he held her up with his arms, very similar to the way a small child would be held. The doctor refrained from commenting and Georgiana offered her a reassuring smile as they entered the grand house.

Anxiously, Darcy headed for the stairs, the physician in tow. The master bedroom was actually the closest, which worked out nicely, and he set her down delicately on the bed while Georgiana handled explaining the situation to the servants.

"I will come out and get you when the examination is complete."

Darcy froze. "What?" he asked. The idea that he would have to leave the room had not even crossed his mind, and he set to argue when Georgiana entered the room and reminded him that the more time he spent arguing with the doctor, the longer it would be before they found out what was wrong with poor Elizabeth.

He left within a moment after that, reluctantly kissing her forehead before taking his leave. Georgiana followed him, offering support as he paced the hallway, straining to hear them through the door.

* * *

With another twenty minutes gone by, Georgiana began to wonder if her poor brother could take any more. She, too, was nearly beside herself with concern, but it was he who had stopped pacing completely and instead stared glaringly at the door, willing it to open - which, to both of their great reliefs, it did.

"Miss Darcy," the doctor said, nodding at her, "would you mind leaving your brother and I alone for a few moments?"

With a frown to convey her displeasure, she departed down the stairs without a word, and Darcy felt the color drain from his face as he asked, "What's going on?"

* * *

No matter your thoughts on the matter - so long as they are not done in poor taste in the event that their nature is criticism - I would, of course, love to hear what you have to say. Also, note that the lemon scene was not to be te main one of the fic; it was just a little bit of a teaser. Review away!

My highest regards,

Raven, Emancipated Rebels


	3. Agreement of Sorts

Disclaimer: I do not own Pride and Prejudice, nor any of its subsequent characters, dialogue, or plot lines.

Warning: Rated **M **for sexuality and adult themes.

* * *

When the doctor did not immediately responded, Darcy growled in a much more demanding tone, "_What's wrong with her_?"

Doctor Bentley, seeing his growing agitation, quickly sought to placate his concerns. "Your wife is in the family way," he informed him as briskly as he could; such a subject would never get less awkward for him, so he had resolved himself to being as short and subtle about it as possible.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, however, seemed to seek to make his life as complex as it could possibly be.

"The family way?" he challenged. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

With a sigh, Bentley looked over him once, trying to detect if the man was joking or not. Once he had determined that he was not, he hushed his voice and murmured, "Mrs. Darcy is withchild."

"I don't want to hear any of your half-assed - she's what, you say?"

He could not help a small groan of unhappiness as he elaborated, "Your wife is carrying your first son or daughter."

Mr. Darcy did not respond with the boyish grin that the doctor had come to expect of husbands - in fact, the corner of his mouth turned down as he studied the provider of this new bit of information.

"Why has she fainted?" he wanted to know, and Bentley could not help but be in awe once more of such total dedication. "Has her condition made her ill?"

The physician shook his head, explaining, "The first three months are generally marked by such things - fainting, abrupt nausea, ultra sensitivity to certain smells, things like that. For some women, it can even last partway into their second trimester, though that is rare. Regardless, she is fit as a fiddle, though perhaps a bit stressed out."

"Stressed out?" Darcy's brows drew together. "What do you mean, stressed out? And what does that have to do with her fainting?"

"Well," Mr. Bentley began rather uncomfortably, not eager to press his nose into marital affairs. "Stress can cause complications, and as her body is already under quite a bit do to the rapid changing occuring, it can cause symptoms such as fainting, or, in more extreme cases, miscarriage."

Fitzwilliam, who had been looking at the floor as he contemplated his new knowledge, glanced up with unrestricted fear at the mention of the word. "How is she stressed?" he wanted to know, as if this man they had just met could possibly know.

Bentley shifted his weight. "Well, I can't say I know. I imagine that the daily duties that accompany her position as your wife could be one cause, and she admitted to entertaining friends of yours on a regular basis, which could be an added factor as well."

Darcy burned all of this into his memory, mercilessly telling himself that he was going to have to work extra hard, now, to make sure that Elizabeth didn't have to worry about such things.

As if reading his thoughts, the doctor added, "It's also an important family time. Preparing for the arrival - and, at the same time, ensuring that it makes one - should be your first priority, as from what I've gathered about your wife, she is unlikely to care for herself."

Another single nod and a reminder that he would figure out, later, how to balance so many things at once, took the place of any response Darcy could have. As the doctor took his leave, he very slowly pushed open the door, and at the sight of Elizabeth practically glowing in their large bed, he felt his heart swell.

He crossed the distance between them as quickly as possible, kneeling beside the bed and kissing her hand - the only part of her body he dared touch. "A child, Elizabeth," he murmured in wonder.

"You are content with it, then?" she asked hesitantly, searching his face for reassurance.

"I am more than content!" he nearly bellowed. "We have so much to do - oh, but you shouldn't worry about that. I'll have your things moved to your new room tomorrow, and -"

"New room?" she asked, her voice so soft he didn't hear and continued on.

"- Mrs. Reynolds can help you decorate it, if you wish. There's also the matter of letting everyone know, but -"

"New room?" she interrupted more loudly now.

His brows drew together. "Of course," he said slowly, frowning as he tried to understand what she was getting at. "A new bedroom for you."

At the pained look on her face as he spoke, Darcy found himself quite bewildered. She didn't even open her mouth to argue, and that was, perhaps, what worried him the most.

Elizabeth, herself, was trying very hard within those few seconds to come to turn with what her husband was saying. Of course she was getting a new room. They had already conceived; their was no longer any reason to share a bed. Cursing herself for the most ridiculous of all dimwits that had ever walked the earth, she couldn't help a single thought that crept into her mind: She hadn't thought Darcy was like that.

"Is that not what you want?" her husband asked, trying to wrap his mind around what could possibly be her problem with the concept. She didn't even need to answer him - the look on her face was enough to tell him that she was, indeed, unhappy with the prospect.

This, of course, made no sense to him. How could she want to stay in a room with him? There were a minimum of two nights a week that he returned to bed well into the night, and Elizabeth being such a light sleeper as she was, she would wake up each time. This was perfectly all right on a normal basis, but she couldn't afford to have her sleep interrupted when there was a third party depending on her.

When her eyes filled with tears, he found himself at quite a loss. "What's wrong?" he asked helplessly, rising to his feet but not moving to comfort her - his large hands, he was no convinced, were more than capable of accidentally breaking her as well as the tiny child within her, and so it was best to just keep from contact with her. Yet another reason, he thought to himself, for them to sleep separately.

"You don't wish to spend the night with me any more?" she asked softly, refusing to let any of the cursed droplets to fall. Realization dawned - she thought he considered her to be just another baby-producing contraption, as so many men viewed their wives.

"Oh, Lizzy," he murmured, wishing to take her into his arms but unable to will himself to get so close. "Of course I do, I just worry about waking you up, or rolling over on top of you, or pushing you off the bed... All of that could be terribly detrimental."

"So you would rather me sleep alone, where there was no one around if something were to happen?"

This gave him pause, and he refrained from answering for several minutes until she almost thought she had angered him somehow. Finally, he shook his head and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, where he leaned over and kissed Elizabeth's forehead. "No," he said softly, "you're right."

She nodded once, but that was her only response.

To break the silence, he asked, "Do you know how long it will be until the baby arrives?"

"Seven and a half months," she replied. "He set the date for around the first of April."

"So long?" he sighed.

"You won't think that once it's born," she informed him, laughing softly. "There's a lot to do before then, you know. It'll need clothing and a crib and a nursery - and a name, at that - and, like you said earlier, we have to tell everyone."

"I dare say we're going to have our hands full," he admitted slowly with a great sigh.

* * *

"Mrs. Reynolds?" Darcy called, his voice eminating throughout the huge house as it had a tendency to do. He was sitting at his desk in the sitting room, working diligently at the finance logs for an estate he owned elsewhere in Derbyshire. He'd never actually been there, which made it the most difficult one to account for, and had decided after the better part of an hour that he had been away from his wife quite long enough.

The summoned servant came bustling in, curtsying quickly and asking, "Yes, master?"

"Do you know where I might find Mrs. Darcy?" he asked. Normally, he would not have been pompous enough to inconvenience one of his servants for such a matter, but he was too frustrated to go searching throughout the house for the unpredictable woman he had so chosen to marry. Knowing her, she would be in the last room he looked in.

Mrs. Reynolds looked thoughtful. "I believe the mistress mentioned not too long ago that she was going for a walk," she informed him. "Yes, I'm sure it. Not half of an hour past - along the lake, she said."

The flash of anger across his face was nearly tangible. _The woman lives to vex me_, he decided with a scowl. _Doesn't she understand that that could be dangerous? Off on her own!_

The head servant took this as her cue to leave, which she did with a nod and a second curtsy, unwilling to watch her master's fury grow any further.

Coming to the conclusion that it was _he_ who was unlikely to survive her entire term, so often did she evoke his concern, he hopped up and within only a few more breaths was off to track down the rebellious girl.

He took off at a jog along the shore of the lake and well into the path in the adjacent forest, cursing her all the while (and, every few curses, apologizing mentally before a new wave of rage appeared). Ten minutes passed, and the anger dissipated as visions of her lying on the ground or captive to some twisted rival of the Darcys (Mr. Wickham was the man that came to mind in his own head) or at the bottom of the lake began to fill his head.

When the sound of horrible wretching filled his ears, he paused with a frown. A cough ensued, and he instantly recognized it as his own Elizabeth's and ran the last fifty or so yards along the path until he found her, bent over the bushes, holding her stomach and emptying what sounded like the entirety of both her breakfast and lunch.

He quietly moved behind her and pulled her hair back with a single hand, snaking the other around her waist and placing it over her own hands. When it seemed she was done, he gave her his handkerchief and she wiped her mouth, bitter tears falling down cheeks stained red with embarassment.

Darcy ran his hands through her hair gently as she cried for another minute or so into his chest until she finally pulled back by a few inches, muttering, "Sorry."

"Are you all right?" he asked by way of reply. She nodded her head up and down, perhaps a bit more dramatically than was her normal response, but seemed much less upset than she had only moments earlier. Not so gullible, he looked her over to make sure that she wasn't injured or muddy - how was he to know if she had fallen at any point? - and, once he affirmed that she was pristine condition, his anger returned, albeit less potent than it had been when he had first set out.

"You know you aren't supposed to engage in physical strain," he scolded her firmly. His eyes were something close to cold with a mixture between disappointment and lividness.

"So I'm not allowed to walk any more?" she challenged, clearly having prepared for this. Her cheeks began to pinken again as she glared at him. "That's odd, because you would think that if that was what nature had intended, a woman's feet would fall off once she had conceived!"

"That's not what I meant and you know it," he snapped. "You shouldn't be stressing yourself out any more than need be. This will have amounted to an hour or more of nothing but walking! Do you know how much energy that is draining from you? And you've just vomited any food that could have replaced it!"

Her eyes narrowed. "You are sorely mistaken if you think I threw up on _purpose_, Fitzwilliam, " Elizabeth retorted, her voice void of any sort of emotion. "Had I not gone for a walk, I would have done what? I'm not allowed to 'strain my mind' helping you with the logs, I'm not allowed to 'work my back' helping the servants, I'm not allowed to 'stress myself out' entertaining people, and now I am also forbidden to go on a simple walk? It's not like I had you to talk to! Should I just sit there and bask in my own thoughts for the next seven months?" By the end of her speech, she had gotten herself so worked up that she was in tears again, her entire body quivering with the force of her disgust.

"Calm down," he encouraged, "you can't let yourself get this upset. It could -"

"- cause complications?" she interjected, her voice nothing if not a scream. "Yes, I know! In fact, perhaps I should stop _breathing_, lest _that_ hurt the baby, too!"

"You're being ridiculous now," Darcy admonished.

"_I'm_ being ridiculous? That's all I've heard from you for _two forsaken weeks_!" She let out a frustrated yell just because she had nothing else to do with the bubbling irritation.

"Because it's true!" His voice rose dangerously now. "You should be _saving_ your energy, not dallying off somewhere unaccompanied! Do you know how much danger you're putting -"

She threw her hands up into the air, the only option, in her head, besides slapping him. "What about _me_?" she demanded, her voice a series of shrieks now. "What am _I_? Just a pot to contain and nourish your plant? Don't _I _matter at all?"

"_Of course you matter_!" The sound could be compared to nothing but a thunder, so loud she felt the force of it vibrate in her chest. "For God's sake, Elizabeth, you're the _only_ thing that matters!"

She laughed without humor and it nearly gave him goosebumps. "Oh, yes, I'm all that matters - so long as I don't use up any of your child's precious energy!"

"Whoever said anything about the child?" he inquired, his eyes narrowing.

Elizabeth looked about ready to strangle hime on sight. "That's _all_ you've been going on about this entire time!"

Her husband stared at her, his eyes going hard. "No, it's not," he countered flatly. "Elizabeth, my mother _died_ in childbirth. She'd been pregnant before and assumed incorrectly that she knew what she was up against. My father was absent for the majority of it and there was no one to stop her from gallavanting away and doing whatever she damn well pleased! Her labor came two months early and it _killed _her. You think that's what I fucking want for you?"

She was too shocked by this new piece of information to even gasp at his use of such an epithet and instead stared at him.

"We can have ten children, if that's what you wish," he continued softly. "So long as you retain good health, I don't care. But I will _not_ watch you sit there and kill yourself - I'll tie you up and force feed you before that happens."

"I thought you wanted the baby," Elizabeth murmured, wincing at his declaration of apathy.

"Of course I do! By God, I want this child just as much as you do! But not at the price of your life." Darcy shook his head slowly. "Nothing is worth that. Hell, even so early in your term, to miscarry could hurt you."

Feeling like the most wretched creature to ever have walked, she simply stood there, completely at a loss for words. Almost seeming to rub it in her face, he eliminated the need for it, pulling her into a tight embrace and kissing her forehead.

"I guess I won't be walking, then," she conceded with a hollow voice. Darcy sighed.

"Perhaps..." he trailed off, debating a few moments longer. "Perhaps you could still walk every once in a while. But you would have to take someone with you - Georgiana or I. Just to make sure, all right? And only for the next few months. It will be far too dangerous towards the end, and you already aren't fairing well."

Elizabeth nodded gratefully, willing the tears to stay in her eyes. To distract herself, she meekly quizzed, "When are we going to tell Georgiana?"

Darcy considered this for a few moments. "I'm not quite sure," he admitted. "We'll have to tell her before you start to show - she sees far too much and would probably notice even before you did." His lips twitched into a fond smile before he continued, "She'll be far too excited, however, so we'll have to be careful. We'll tell her on a day where nothing much is happening, how is that? Some time soon."

Elizabeth nodded. "And my sisters and family?"

"You can write to them later today, of course. I'm sure Jane and Charles will, at least, want to come for a stay. I don't know if that's the best idea..."

"Your rules cannot exempt my sister," she told him flatly. No heart-wrenching story would get her to abandon that, as was clear. "I see _your_ sister every day - it's ridiculous that I shouldn't be able to see my own. Jane is anything but stressful, and in fact lifts my spirits considerably each time I see her."

"Your sister, then," he agreed. "However, if your parents or other sisters wish to come, they can stay here no longer than a week. Understood?"

Though she thought it unfair that her father was included - after all, he was nothing like his wife or three younger children - she nodded, knowing that he would not stay when her mother and sisters went home, anyway.

After a time, she asked softly, "What about Lydia?"

She asked tentatively, expecting him to shout his refusal immediately. Though Lydia was never a sister she got along particularly well with, she could not help but love her - she was, after all, her blood. Even after she had so shamelessly run away with Mr. Wickham, she had never lost her affection for the immature, often obnoxious young woman, and considering that she had not seen her since she had moved out, she was beginning to sorely miss her.

"Do you think she could be persuaded to come without her... husband?" he asked through his teeth, trying to understand that she was his wife's sister and knowing that it would only stress Elizabeth out further if Lydia found out that she was the only one who had not been invited (and, of course, threw a tantrum about it).

Elizabeth shook her head somewhat sadly. "No, I don't believe so. It's quite all right - I don't need to see her."

Hearing the longing in her voice, Darcy agreed to something he would regret to countless measures later on: "They can visit for a few days." Georgiana, he knew, would be in hysterics the whole time, and while it would be unbearable, she was also a young lady now and could protect herself - Elizabeth, on the other hand, was the one that needed to be worried about, especially now. Besides, both of them would be there the entire time, and he knew that they wouldn't let the wretched man so much as speak to his sister.

Her face lighting up as it did made the agreement worth it to Elizabeth's already grudging husband. "Oh, thank you!"

He nodded once. "Let's get back, now, all right? It's about to storm, and I wouldn't like you to catch a cold."

She nodded, not having forgotten what he had told her earlier, and allowed him to drag her back to their house.

* * *

To eliminate any who would question Darcy's use of the word "fuck," please consider that the word was used - even as a curse - well before their time. In fact, consider Rochester's "A Satyre on Charles III," in which he uses many other such words as well, which was written around 1650.

My highest regards,

Raven, Emancipated Rebels


	4. Atonement

Disclaimer: I do not own Pride and Prejudice, nor any of its subsequent characters, dialogue, or plot lines.

Warning: Rated **M **for sexuality and adult themes.

* * *

"Oh, Lizzy!" Jane whispered, a serene smile set on her face as if it were her own child and not that of her sister's that was to be born in little over half a year. Once she and Charles had received the letter that welcomed them to "visit at their earliest inconvenience," they set off for Pemberley instead of taking the time to write back. Charles had little if ever seen his wife so excited, save when they were to be married, and at the blue-eyed plea for his permission, he found himself quite unable to refuse her.

Elizabeth's own mouth contorted into a grin. "I know!" she agreed with an unspoken statement. Bingley and Darcy looked at each other, dumbfounded, as their wives continued to communicate in such a manner, leaving them unaware of exactly what they were talking about.

Once Mrs. Darcy had carted her sister off upstairs - no doubt to gossip in the privacy of the bedroom, Darcy thought wryly - his friend turned to him and shook his hand.

"Congratulations!" his red-haired comrade offered, and Darcy nodded, his eyes bright with an elation that Charles was seeing more and more frequently since Elizabeth had entered his life.

"Thank you," he said with no little sincerity. "I'm so glad the two of you decided to come - it will do Elizabeth well, I believe, to spend some time with Jane."

Charles nodded his agreement. "A unique couple, those two."

Pausing for a moment to look over his friend, who perhaps, he decided, looked just a bit _too_ glad to have the company, Charles Bingley came to a realization. "Are you scared, Darcy?" he asked, hardly able to believe his own voice but far from condescending. This was the first time, he was certain, he had ever seen such an emotion on him, and the word along with the subject's name barely seemed to fit within the same sentence together.

But, sure enough, Darcy grimaced and let out a chuckle. "I'm bloody terrified."

Considering this for a moment, Charles nodded. "That's fair enough, I suppose, but what it is that you so fear?"

Silence ensued and once a full minute had passed, Bingley became convinced that he was not to received a response. Not knowing how to break the quiet that had befallen, he wracked his brain for other news - but, to his surprise, he did in fact get his reply.

"Everything," he finally admitted, sitting in a chair and placing a hand over his eyes. "I'm afraid I won't know how to properly be a father, I'm afraid I'll upset my wife, and..." he trailed off and then lifted his head, looking at his companion with a need for comfort that Charles was stunned to disbelief to see. "She's already gotten terribly ill - suppose she cannot survive the birth?"

The other man cocked a brow. "Your Lizzy, not survive something? I daresay that if there is anyone in the world with will strong enough to survive such an ordeal, it is her. Women have been bearing children for centuries, Darcy." Despite his strong words, he spoke with a hesitancy - not the result of uncertainty, but rather the oddity of having to reassure the normally almost despicably-confident master of the house. "No, she won't let such a common thing beat her spirit. You must know that."

A curt nod was Darcy's only sign that he had even heard the man speak, but there was a small amount of relief in his eyes that had been offered from his friend's words.

"How did Georgiana respond to the news?" Bingley was eager to inquire. Perhaps talk of happier things was what the impending father most needed.

As expected, Darcy emitted a chuckle. "With all of the excitement we could have expected. I nearly had to pry her off Elizabeth before she suffocated her, and it took a full ten minutes to explain amongst her exclamations that she could not yet feel the child."

"And have you informed any other family?"

He shook his head. "No, not yet. Elizabeth was adamant that you and Jane be the first outside the house to know, though she already has the letters written to be sent out to the rest of her relatives."

Charles did not miss the implication. "And your own? What of Lady Catherine?"

"I would rather her not know," he admitted, "but I fear that will prove impossible, as Lizzy will wish to inform Mrs. Collins of her new condition as well, and I have no doubt that her husband will relay the message to his ladyship."

"Will you wait for him to inform her, then?"

"No, absolutely not. She would come roaring into the house with accusations aimed at everything living, and I would not have Elizabeth put through that, though she does have a remarkable way of taking nothing my outspoken aunt says to heart."

"Probably a wise decision," Charles agreed. "How long would you have us stay? Jane expressed the desire to remain until the birth, however, if you have other plans, they will obviously take first."

Darcy frowned as he considered that he had told his wife the limit was to be seven days. However, it had been nearly three months since the sister had seen each other, and even at that moment he could hear their laughter, despite his distance from them. He considered that entertaining two guests, especially once they reached the last few weeks of her term, could be horribly stressful - but, then again, when had the presence of her sister ever stressed her out? And it would certainly be a relief, he knew, to know that Jane was with her during the delivery...

"That would be agreeable," he nodded. The truth was that it would be far more than agreeable - in fact, he could hardly wait to inform Elizabeth.

He received his oppertunity when, in the next moment, they two came giggling down the stairs, their arms linked.

"Elizabeth," he began, and he noticed discontently the grimace that crossed her face; she thought she was to be scolded. A tiny seed of guilt worked its way into his mind, but only for a moment, for his next statement, he felt, made up for it: "Charles and I have decided that he and your sister will be staying for the remainder of your term."

She simply stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending, and in the next had pulled away from her sister and crossed the room, nearly crashing into her husband as she wrapped her arms around him in an affectionate hug. "Truely?" she whispered, and when he nodded, she stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him.

Jane and Charles looked away, feeling that they were intruders on a private spousal moment, but identical smiles graced their faces.

* * *

Elizabeth knocked gently on the door to Darcy's study and he looked up as she entered without waiting for a response. He took in her troubled expression and immediately inquired, "What is it?"

"We... have a letter," she began slowly, crossing the distance to stand before his desk. His brows lifted and as he was about to ask why she had opened a letter addressed to them both when she corrected, "Well, actually, _I_ received a letter. But it... concerns us both, as well as Jane and Charles, I believe."

"Well, who is it from?"

Elizabeth shifted her weight and fiddled with the paper in her hand. "Your aunt, Fitzwilliam. Lady Catherine." His expression darkened but before he could comment, she hastily added, "She wishes us to come visit her at Rosings right away, but if we go, we must bring the Bingleys - I won't have them simply sit here at the house while we -"

"Let me see the letter," he said flatly, cutting her off. She was rambling, he had realized, a sure sign that it had stated more than that.

Elizabeth shook her head and when he reached for it, she took a step back to compensate. She quickly ripped it into dozens of pieces, such that it would have proven decidedly impossible to put them back together, and her husband's eyes darkened with temper at the clear act of defiance.

"What is the meaning of this, Elizabeth?"

"It would only have upset you," she told him softly. "There was nothing else in there that you needed to see, I assure you. She simply requested our presence as soon as possible, and added in a few... opinions... to hasten our decision, I suppose."

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose, his jaw setting. "I see no reason to visit with her," he sat flatly. "I will not tolerate such abuse of my wife, especially not -"

"I think we should," she countered, biting her lip. "Lady Catherine has far too much pride to ask us to come if there were not something amiss, especially since it has been the better part of seven months since we last had any contact with her. If it were merely for convenience, she would have written us long before now."

"It has not been seven months," he began to argue, but when she shook her head.

"It has, Fitzwilliam. It was two months before the wedding, the last time you spoke with her, and we've been married for five months now."

He frowned. "Are you quite certain you wish to go? You've been so ill all week, and I'm not sure travel is best for you right now."

"I am certain," she maintained. "I believe we should depart tomorrow. Shall we bring Georgiana, as well, in case we end up staying a while?"

This brought up another topic he had been meaning to talk about. While Elizabeth's own sister was fine, even having Charles around as well seemed to be pushing her limit some days, and Georgiana was the most eccentric of them all; he had been musing since the arrival of the Bingleys two weeks prior that perhaps Georgie should spend a while elsewhere. He loved his sister dearly, but she was not the one who needed tending to right then.

"I was thinking that Georgiana should perhaps stay for a time with the Fitzwilliams, actually," he began slowly.

Elizabeth looked at him, puzzled. "Whyever would she do that? She seems content enough here, does she not?"

He considered a delicate way to put what he was getting at. "She does," he agreed, "but it's an awful lot of people to have around the house, Elizabeth. With Jane and Charles here and the rest of your family no doubt going to be making appearances at different intervals, I feel it would be best to make things as quiet as possible. Georgiana is perhaps a bit too energetic for you right now, and I know for a fact that she will be more than pleased to stay with Richard and his wife for a while."

She shook her head vehemently. "No, absolutely not. What a ridiculous idea, Fitzwilliam! To kick her from her own house? Her presence does not bother me a bit, and in fact I quite love having her around."

Darcy sighed. Of course, he had expected such a reaction - Georgiana and Elizabeth had grown wonderfully close since the engagement had been announced. However, he had seen the fatigue in his wife's eyes after having spent hours speaking with his sister and knew that the effect would only worsen with time. "I would like her to leave for a while," he finally offered. "I would like to be able to spend more time with you."

Elizabeth blinked in surprise. "Oh," she said, not knowing entirely what to make of such a statement. "Well, if that's what you wish..." After all, she could hardly argue with him over his own desires.

He nodded once, feeling the slightest bit bad for having tricked his wife into agreeing - though, admittedly, it was not entirely untrue. "I have already spoken briefly to Richard about it - I'll send a confirmation and they will come to collect Georgiana while we are away."

"All right, then," she said with a sigh. "I'll go let Charles and Jane know that we're leaving in the morning."

* * *

When they finally arrived at Rosings, it was a relief for everyone. They had been forced to stop no less than three times for Elizabeth to be sick, which came as no surprise; the rocking motion of the carriage threatened to upset even the stomachs of the other three in it. However, it was also raining as steadily and stubbornly as it possibly could have, leaving both Darcys soaked - Fitzwilliam for removing his suit jacket and holding it over his wife's head in the hopes that she would not get wet and catch cold, and Elizabeth for this attempt failing due to the fact that the rain fell at an angle.

Charles had courteously given Elizabeth his jacket to wear and hopefully warm herself with while Jane switched places to sit beside her, as the flooded husband could do little to help without getting the jacket wet as well.

It was late at night before they finally arrived and Lady Catherine had been in bed for quite some time. Though she seemed to have managed to ward off any sickness, Elizabeth's face was sallow with exhaustion from their journey and was sent to rest immediately, not to arise until midday the following day.

When she made her way into the large sitting room, having woken up to an empty bedroom and correctly assumed that that was where they all had headed, all eyes turned to her. Darcy rose quickly to meet his wife and take her arm, pleased to see that the color had completely returned to her face and she was no worse for wear. He murmured, "I've not told her yet," into Elizabeth's ear, and she began to ask why when she saw the obvious reason: there sat Anne de Bourgh on the couch beside a man Elizabeth had never seen before, her face so thin you could practically trace the bone, and yet her stomach seemed to portrude in the most peculiar of fashions...

Her gasp was inaudible and she worked quickly to mask her horror at the sight of the greatly pregnant woman that was her cousin by marriage. Fitzwilliam gently squeezed her arm in reassurance and sat her down on the couch beside Jane, choosing to stand beside it whereas Charles sat on Jane's other side. The sisters exchanged a look that revealed that Jane was equally as concerned, though she had never met the woman and did not know that she was always so sickly.

"Laziness is a very poor trait in a wife," Lady Catherine announced flatly. "Even my Anne is already awake, and she withchild, no less."

"It was a long ride," Darcy interjected firmly, "and Elizabeth was not feeling terribly well to begin with, but she insisted that we come after receiving your letter."

The ladyship's point had hardly been a point at all, Elizabeth considered to herself. Anne's eyes were marred by large, dark circles beneath them, and she likely should not have gotten out of bed at all.

Lady Catherine's upper lip stiffened, but she did not reply. "As you can see, Miss Bennet -" it was Darcy who bristled at this rather than Elizabeth, "- she has done quite well for herself. Had you two not left so promptly the last time you visited me, I would have informed you that Anne had been married to Francis Burke. In fact, she is some seven and a half months into term with her first child by now."

Her every word seemed to be a refreshed attempt to mock Elizabeth, but she chose not to react. Instead, her eyes traveled to the bony woman whose mother spoke of her so proudly, and an uneasy tension filled the room.

"Congratulations," she finally said, offering as bright a smile as she could muster.

"Thank you," Anne replied softly, her own smile wan in comparison. It nearly hurt Elizabeth to look at her.

"Anne, Francis, leave us," the lady said abruptly. Both Elizabeth and Jane looked elsewhere, unable to watch the feeble woman as Francis - with the assistance of both of their husbands - helped get her on her feet and then escort her from the room.

"Yes, your ladyship?" Elizabeth asked boldly once the two had fully quit the room.

"Don't patronize me," Lady Catherine responded coldly. Darcy tensed but a sharp look from his wife and he held his tongue, albeit grudgingly. She went on, "As you can see, Anne is unwell. The doctor says..." she trailed off for a moment. "Well, never mind what the doctor says. Doctors know very little. Regardless, I believe Anne would benefit greatly from the company of her cousin and of fellow females her age, and so I request that you remain here until she has given birth."

"We cannot," Darcy said simply. However, Elizabeth had noticed what her husband had failed to - by the end of her statement, the lady's eyes had a very subtle, nearly non-existant look of pleading to them. There was a desperation to the situation, as was clear simply by looking at her daughter. And after all, weren't they in the same situation with Jane and Charles? Had they not come to keep her company until the arrival of their first-born?

"We can," she argued, much to the surprise of everyone present. She turned to look at him and he was shocked to see the fervency with which she countered his statement.

"Elizabeth," he said sharply, "we have matters at home to attend to. We cannot stay here for so long."

"Would you so eagerly abandon your own cousin?" she demanded, fairly trapping him. "Do you not see that she is ill?"

"She is not our responsibility."

Lady Catherine regarded them with cool apathy, though her own mind was churning. The situation was the exact opposite of what she had expected - she had anticipated that her nephew would be more than willing to assist and that it would be his wretched wife that would take a few sharp words to get her to agree. She was completely at a loss, now, for what to think, what with Darcy so careless about her dear Anne and Elizabeth fighting to stay.

In the midst of Darcy snapping something about how she had no choice in the matter, Elizabeth turned to look at Lady Catherine. "I will stay," she said firmly, and the older woman found herself quite unsettled to meet the crystal, burning eyes of her nephew's wife.

"_Elizabeth_! You will _not_ defy me in such a manner!"

Both of the women turned instantly to look at him, and Elizabeth rose. Though she was much smaller than he, she pulled up to her full height and met his eyes head on.

"Will you drag me out by my feet, husband?" she demanded, meeting his glare with equal intensity. "And who, do you think, will be holding my hands? Charles?"

"Do not speak to me in that tone," he retorted through a clenched jaw. "You will remember your place as my wife. We are returning to Pemberley in no less than three days time!"

"Yes, I am your wife - not your servant! You may return to your home -" he nearly flinched at her use of the word 'your,' though she didn't seem to notice, "- whenever you please, but if you expect me to accompany you, it will be a month and a half from now and we will be bading our farewells to Anne _and_ her infant!"

Lady Catherine was positively vexed. Never in her life had she heard a woman permitted to speak to a man this way, and her nephew, no less! And yet, Elizabeth was fighting for _her_ side, so the will to reprimand her for it was absent.

A large crack sounded and suddenly the room went quite silent. After a moment of that forlorn silence, several things happened at once.

First, Jane gasped. Charles then rose, his cheeks heated in an anger that the lady had never seen in the timid young man, and demanded, "By God, Darcy, you have stricken your own wife?" Elizabeth, her head turned to the side from the force of the blow, slowly pulled her head back to face him, her eyes filling with rage-induced tears. It was Darcy's face, however, that was the most memorable, as he stared at the hand that had slapped her as if it belonged to someone else entirely.

Despite all of this, Elizabeth found it within her to stonily claim, "I will stay." Darcy took a step back from her and then spun on his heel, leaving the room. Charles followed to prevent him from doing anything rash and she reclaimed her place on the sofa, where Jane immediately turned her head to examine the violent red mark that already seemed to be swelling slightly.

"What is your motive?" Lady Catherine demanded. "Do you think that just because you fight to aid my daughter, you will win my affection?"

Elizabeth turned and set her fevered eyes on her. "I stay for Anne, not for you," she told her coldly, and the lady found herself quite taken aback by the statement. "You will do well not to speak to me in such a manner, as I have every reason to make up with my husband and return to my home."

"Most men would have stricken you far before my nephew did," Catherine told her emotionlessly.

"So they would have, but the fact remains that he did, in fact, hit me."

"I have never met another like you in my entire life," the lady declared.

"For that I am glad," she snapped.

"And what could you possibly mean by that?"

"If you have never met another like me, no other has had to deal with your insufferable presence even when they have risked the happiness of their marriage to help the daughter you have damned to death!"

"You will not speak to me this way in my own house!"

"To the contrary, your ladyship, not only did I say it - I meant it!"

Lady Catherine sat back in stunned silence, reeling from such a statement. From the time she could talk, no one had ever spoken in such a way to her before, and she found herself just as intrigued as she was enraged.

"Where did you come about such a tongue?" she wanted to know. "Who gave you the right to say such things to people so far above you?"

"I have an opinion, and you should consider yourself lucky I do, for if I did not, my husband would still be in the room under the agreement that we leave in half a week. Did you expect me to only have thoughts when it was he that I was arguing with? You cannot have me both ways, and if you mean to tell me that you prefer me to hold my tongue, I will go now and tell him that we shall leave."

"You mean to threaten me?"

"No, I mean to tell you that I am in no way required to do what I am doing, and that if you do not learn even a small amount of gratitude, I may very well find it within myself to take my leave."

Before her ladyship could even respond, Elizabeth grasped her head, wavered, and fell into a dead faint across her sister's lap.

* * *

"Darcy! What in the name of God has gotten into you?" Charles demanded as he followed his comrade outside.

He turned to look at him sharply. "Bingley," he warned, "come off it."

"I will not! To - to hit your own wife, and while she carries your child! In front of her _sister_, no less -"

"It was her that I was trying to look out for!" he roared, slamming his fist into an undeserving tree.

"I don't see how that could possibly be the case," Charles argued simply. "How can striking a person ever be considered looking out for them?"

He whirled on him. "Do you understand the consequences of her staying here? She will devote every moment to my cousin when she has her own pregnancy to worry about! She cannot handle the stress of both!"

"Perhaps you underestimate her. Your wife is -"

"Strong, capable, spirited, yes! I understand that. But it is hard enough on her to deal with her own term, and she is at least very resilient. Anne offers no compensation; she will be as needy as the baby she will have."

"It is only a month and a half, and Elizabeth has yet to even begin to show."

"By a month and a half's time, she will have, and you are a fool if you think that Elizabeth will actually agree to leave right after the birth. She will insist upon staying to ensure that the infant is healthy and remains so. This is the result of my aunt's stupidity - she knew well that Anne could not handle a child. It is not my wife's burden to bear, and as much as I care for my cousin, I cannot allow her to drag Elizabeth down as well."

"It is still so early, Darcy. Staying with Anne could not possibly be such a danger."

"I worry about a miscarriage, not an early labor," he responded flatly. "My wife seems to feel the need to take everything on her own shoulders when she has quite enough in her own life to deal with."

"So support her," Charles advised. "She will continue to do that whether you approve or not, but you must realize how much easier it would be on her if you were half as supportive as you were critical."

"You expect me to simply agree every time she wants to exert herself to exhaustion?"

"No, of course not. But if you find yourself completely unable to sway her, you might at least offer assistance."

Darcy fell silent, brooding over this suggestion that he had not thought of. He place his arm against the tree he had just punched and rested his forehead on it with a heavy sigh. "That was the first time, truely, that I have ever laid hand on a woman, and it was Elizabeth, of all people."

"You were an ass," his friend agreed shortly. "You cannot leave it there. You must go apologize - surely you realize that your wife depends on you every bit as much as you depend on her."

He turned his head sharply to look at Charles. "What do you mean by that?"

However, Mr. Bingley simply shook his head and made his way back to the house. Darcy followed.

* * *

Before there had even been time to call for a physician, Elizabeth awoke again, dizzy but settled.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lady Catherine wanted to know, her eyes narrowed.

"My sister is sick," Jane replied as shortly as she dared, smoothing back Elizabeth's hair. "I do believe she has worked herself into a spell."

"She is too young for such things," the lady speculated, her lips pursing.

"Stress ages you. I will put her to bed."

Elizabeth, with her help, stood, only to feel the blood rush from her head and collapse back onto the cushion, Jane going with her. She looked over her sister worriedly, and it was then that she noticed how very dry her sister's lips were.

"Lady Catherine, please - call a servant to bring my sister a glass of water."

"Water? What do you mean to do, pour it on her?" Catherine asked, brows raised.

"Pour water on who? Has Elizabeth fainted again?" Darcy's voice asked from the doorway as he moved in more quickly. He was surprised to see his wife concious on the couch, though she did not appear to be feeling well.

"She did, but only for a moment," Jane explained patiently, despite shooting a look at her own husband who had come in with him. Charles was shocked to be met with the first time his wife had ever seemed genuinely angry with him, but he supposed it would go away soon enough.

When Darcy went to put a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, she shrugged away, her eyes dull.

"Your ladyship, water, please. For Elizabeth," Jane repeated insistantly.

"What is the water for?" Darcy wanted to know.

"I believe Lizzy is just a touch dehydrated. I can't remember her drinking much yesterday, and she just woke up so she certainly has had nothing today."

Lady Catherine, her eyes not leaving the four clustered around the couch once more, called for Leanne to fetch water, and the maid returned with a glass and pitcher of it promptly to avoid the wrath of her lady's temper.

It was several minutes - ten or fifteen, perhaps - and two and a half glasses before Elizabeth's body seemed to process the liquid and she began to regain her wits.

"Are you all right?" Darcy murmured, reaching for her hand. She yanked it back, out of his reach.

"Leave," she said coldly, turning her head so as not to look at him. He flinched as if he himself had received a blow when he saw the developing bruise on her face.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth," he pleaded. "I know that cannot atone for my actions, but I am sorry. I didn't mean to - it was simply on impulse, and my temper got the best of me."

Her only response was to repeat, "Leave."

"I won't," he insisted, and though Jane opened her mouth to protest, Charles quickly took her hand and shook her head at her. "I'll stay here until the child is born, and the four of us will return to Pemberley together. Is that agreeable?"

"It is," she said simply. "I think I will lie down now."

Darcy watched with anguish his wife's retreating figure as she left the room and realized that regaining her trust was not going to be as easy as he had anticipated.

* * *

Don't shoot! Darcy has always had a formidable temper, and it had to make itself evident eventually - after all, with personalities such as theirs, they cannot always be expected to play the roles of doting husband and comforting wife. Let me know what you think!

My highest regards,

Raven, Emancipated Rebels


	5. Strength

I must give a quick thank you to all of my faithful reviewers! Many of you have been reviewing multiple chapters, which is the absolute best thing any writer could ask for. I would by far prefer a reviewer that chose to comment on 20 different chapters than 20 reviewers that all only commented on one! It shows that you care as much as I do about the story, and it is your word that I most value because it lets me know that there are thoughts consistantly going through your head as you read. It's not about the number; it's about the depth. I am so pleased so far to say that you are all offering me wonderful insight.

Disclaimer: I do not own Pride and Prejudice, nor any of its subsequent characters, dialogue, or plot lines.

Warning: Rated **M **for sexuality and adult themes.

* * *

"Elizabeth?" Darcy asked hesitantly, knocking once on the door that he knew his wife to be behind. There came no answer and he briefly wondered if she was still asleep, but a tell-tale rustling of the bedcovers told him otherwise. He waited yet another moment to see if she was getting up to answer the door before stating, "Elizabeth, I know you're awake. Please, let me in. I wish to speak with you."

"Leave."

Her husband grimaced. He had heard scarce else beside that word in the past two full weeks, and he was rapidly reaching the point of desperation. Would she never speak with him again?

"Lizzy, you cannot block me out forever. We will have to talk about this eventually; you still carry my own child, for God's sake!"

She looked up from where she sat on the bed and demanded frigidly, "What makes you think that?" The words had barely left her lips before she regretted them; she could practically feel the air that left her husband's lungs.

"You - you mean to say...?" He did not wait for her to elaborate, though she had already opened her mouth to do so. "Elizabeth Darcy, you will open this godforsaken door right now or I'll break it down instead!"

His head spun with the implication behind her words. She had lost the child? When, and how? And why had he not been notified? And he had just seen her the day before, looking well -

The door opened and he nearly stumbled, having been resting most of his weight on it. He gripped her by her arms, resisting the urge to shake her as he bellowed, "What happened?"

"Release me," she snapped back, wriggling out of his grasp and shutting the door behind him. "The child is fine. It was a foolish thing to say and for that I apologize."

Darcy found himself quite torn between wanting to shout profanities at her for giving him such a scare and understanding that he had deserved it and much worse.

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice quiet, "there are no words to express how sincerely sorry I am. I don't know what came over me, but you must know that I hate myself far more than you ever could for having done it."

"I don't hate you," she said in disgust, walking over and leaning against one beam of the bedframe. Before he could respond, she continued, "If you cannot account for the cause of your actions, what makes you think you won't do it again?"

"I won't," he said flatly, his eyes darkening at such an accusation. "I will _never_ lay hand to you again, of that I am certain."

"How?" she demanded. "How can you be certain? How can _I_ be certain?"

"Have you so little faith in me? Can you not trust my word?"

"Little faith? I have no faith at all! And you speak of trust as if it is something that can be awarded freely at my disgression. I trusted you not to do it in the first place, and what a fool I am for doing so!"

"It was a mistake, Elizabeth!"

"I acknowledge the fact." She glowered at him, a challenge burning in her eyes. "But how am I or anyone else to know that such a mistake will not occur a second time?"

"I don't know." He sat down on the bed and leaned foreward. "Is that what you want to hear? I don't know."

"It's a start," she muttered.

"You must know that I love you."

"Of course I know," Elizabeth scoffed. "I will not leave you just because you chose to slap me, Fitzwilliam. I have more sense than that."

He blinked twice at her abrupt change of mood. "Lizzy?"

"Yes, that's me. You've been rather over-dramatic about this entire thing, you know."

After examining her, Darcy sighed. "Elizabeth, I believe you've gotten as little sleep lately as I have. Come - please rest? I will leave if I must."

There was no response for several seconds, until she finally murmured, "Yes, I am quite tired..."

He stood up quickly to help her out of her dress, though she chose to simply stay in her undergarments instead of changing into a nightgown. Once she had been securely tucked into bed, he reluctantly moved to leave, only to be stopped.

"Will you not stay with me?" his wife requested softly. Momentarily shocked into silence, he quickly regained his wit about him.

"Of course, Lizzy," Darcy said slowly, undressing and wondering if there was a catch - or if, perhaps, she was too tired to remember that she was angry with him, in which case he should leave anyway. Still, he was too selfish, he decided, to give up the opportunity, and so he quickly crawled into bed with her.

She curled up closer to him and he closed his eyes, listening to her breathing until he thought she was asleep. He was surprised once more when she suddenly but slowly reached for his hand, guiding it to the small of her stomach. His eyes flew open when he felt the small but definitive bump that had developed there, firm beneath her skin, but she had already fallen (truely, this time) asleep by the time he could comment, and so he contented himself to leave it there and pull the comforter back over them.

Darcy was ripped rather forcefully from his slumber when, sometime in the midst of the night, there was a loud rapping noise at the door. He sent a quick look to Elizabeth and was relieved to see that she was, in fact, still asleep, before he slowly untangled himself from her and strode to the entrance of the room.

He opened it slowly, hissing, "Mrs. Darcy is asleep!" However, his brows drew together in confusion when he recognized Leanne, one of Lady Catherine's servants. "What is the meaning of this? It's no later than two in the morning!"

Leanne took a step back from the imposing figure before her. "It's - it's Lady Anne, sir." She paused, biting her lip and wondering if her lady's anger might even be preferable to her nephews. "She's been having pains, and her ladyship told me to - to fetch your wife..."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering an oath. "Is it urgent? Elizabeth -"

"What's going on?"

He cussed louder this time and the small maid in front of him blushed and looked away. "Nothing, Lizzy. Go back to sleep."

"Why are you standing in the doorway?" She stood up with a frown and walked over, pushing the door all the way open and blinking in surprise when she saw Leanne. "What's wrong?"

Leanne shifted her look nervously to Darcy, wondering if he would have her lie but equally unwilling to do so. She received a glare from him in return but he still grudgingly turned back towards Elizabeth, explaining softly, "My aunt has summoned you; Anne seemed to have awoken with pain."

He had barely finished the sentence before his wife had brushed past him and out the door, nearly jogging through the wings of the house until she had reached the one that she knew to belong to their cousin.

The door was open, and inside Lady Catherine sat beside the bed in which Anne lay, pale and perspiring, while the doctor seemed to be organizing a metal tray of utensils. Anne's husband was nowhere to be found - likely waiting in the living area, waiting for news.

As soon as she walked in, however, all three pairs of eyes turned to her. Her ladyship stood at once and walked over, begging so softly that no other could hear: "Help her. You must help my Anne!"

"I will do my best," Elizabeth promised sincerely. She walked forward and over to the doctor, asking, "What, exactly, are the circumstances?"

The physician shook his head. "There aren't any," he said, bemused. At her clearly unimpressed look, he continued, "She has not dilated. This happens with half or so of all women - a false alarm, if you will. The problem is that she doesn't seem to bearing the pain, and I fear it is stressing her body to the point where it may turn into the real thing very shortly."

Elizabeth accepted this with no further questioning and walked over towards the bed. Flustered and looking as pitiful as she'd ever seen her, Lady Catherine backed away from the bed, allowing her (unwanted and unacknowledged) niece access to the seat beside it.

"Hello, Anne," she said softly.

Anne regarded her for several moments without saying anything, then said as weakly but impudently as ever, "I've never liked you, Miss Elizabeth, and I believe my cousin made a mistake in taking you for a wife."

With a grimace but no clear offense taken, Elizabeth nodded, knowing that the words had probably indirectly come from Anne's irresponsible - to say the least - mother. Undeterred, she responded, "I'm sorry to hear that, Anne, but if you say so because you fear you will die, I bid you to hold your tongue a bit longer - I expect no deaths tonight."

The frail woman's eyes lit up with wonder and a hint of mistrust, as if Mrs. Darcy was deceiving her. However, in the next moment, a pain - one that any normal woman would consider a blessing in comparison for what was to come - wracked through her and she gripped the bedsheets until her knuckles and face turned just as white, a strangled, gutteral noise forcing its way through her throat.

While the lady let out a hopeless wail over her daughter's predicament, Elizabeth somehow managed to remain calm. She gently pried one of Anne's hands from the sheets and took it in her own, bidding her, "Squeeze as hard as it hurts, Anne."

Anne did so and Elizabeth feared for a moment that her own hand would be torn in half - for so small and weak a woman, her squeeze was nearly unbearable. Still, no such expression of pain crossed the healthier of the two's face, and she murmured words of encouragement until it had passed, discreetly rubbing her hand off the side of the bed.

Brutal tears were beginning to form in Anne's face and Elizabeth immediately felt sorry for her and, to be honest on her part, her entire life. Her cousin turned to look at her with slightly dazed eyes as she began, "Miss Elizabeth -"

"Lizzy," she corrected. "You may call me Miss Elizabeth tomorrow if it pleases you, but tonight, I am Lizzy, and I promise you you'll be fine."

This clearly accounted for whatever Anne was going to say and she closed her mouth once more for several moments. Finally, she spoke up again, her voice fatigued: "Why do you offer assistance to my family when we treat you so poorly?"

"Anne," Lady Catherine admonished, "how inappropriate a question. We most certainly do not treat Miss Bennet poorly; we treat her as an outsider, as she should be."

Elizabeth set her jaw, amazed that even as she sat at the bedside of the child of the ungrateful woman, she still found it within herself to insult her status in the family.

"I would ask you to hold your tongue while I am conversing with your daughter," Lizzy said coldly. Her ladyship's only response was to glare and purse her lips, but quiet she did.

"You have not answered me, Mi - Lizzy," Anne reminded her quietly.

Elizabeth reconsidered the question for several further moments before finally responding, "Disliking me is not a sin worthy of agony. If I were to judge you and throw you to the wolves as you have done me, I would be no better, and I have no intention of lowering myself to such a standard."

"I'm afraid that if we were in reverse roles, I would not help you," her cousin told her softly.

She nodded curtly. "Then I suppose I should be glad that we are not."

Another pain came and this time, Anne did not squeeze Elizabeth's hand, but rather seemed to focus all of her energy on squeezing her eyes shut. Rising out of the chair, Lizzy began whispering softly in her ear, "It's all right, Anne. Relax, all is well. This will be over within moments - you can bear moments more, can you not? And then you may rest. Open your eyes, dear cousin - do not shut the world out. It's the world that you'll want to cling to at a time like this..."

Sure enough, she did as Elizabeth bid her, opening her eyes and staring straight into her disliked company's gaze. Elizabeth held it firmly and, as ridiculous a notion as it was, tried to pour strength into the bedridden girl through the link their eyes now had.

Though the pain was not over yet, Anne indeed seemed to be relaxing her muscles, her eyes never straying; it was unbearable otherwise. When it finally did end, she blinked once, breaking the bond, and Elizabeth returned to her seat.

"You are unlike any other woman I've ever met." Anne's voice was much softer now, but not for weakness as it had been only minutes before - this time, she truly seemed to be fairing decently.

Elizabeth couldn't help the ghost of the grin that crept onto her face as she recalled that Anne's mother had said the very same two weeks prior but had meant it in (she hoped) an entirely different manner.

"That is all right with me," she replied simply. "Do you feel hot?"

A nod sufficed and Elizabeth reached for the bin of cool water that sat in front of her, dipping a cool rag into it and gently dabbing at Anne's warm face. When a contraction hit once more after several more minutes than the space that had been between the last two, she carefully set the towel back in the bucket and proceeded to meet the nearly-hopeful eyes of the patient, just as she had before.

This went on for a full five hours. Anne began to grow even more tired, but as she did so, the contractions got milder and farther a part - ten minutes, then fifteen, twenty-five, thirty-five, forty, fifty, an hour... And still Elizabeth did not once stray from her seat, until a full hour and a half had gone by without a single pain, mild or otherwise.

When she began to nod off, Elizabeth placed her hand in the newly-replaced frigid water to wake her up. It worked effectively and she glanced around, coming to the conclusion that she had only been in such a half-awake state for less than a minute. Anne, too, remained awake, though her eyes were shut and she breathed deeply. However, Lady Catherine had long since fallen to slumber in a chair on the other side of the room, and the doctor had retreated to his chambers with the instructions to wake him if conditions worsened.

Though she hated to even ask, Elizabeth found herself with a gruesome headache and eyes that could not completely focus and inquired, "Anne, do you feel as though you may yet have another pain, or would you mind terribly if I returned to my rooms and rest?"

Anne opened her eyes halfway. "I think I am done," she whispered. "You are free to go."

Too exhausted to even bristle at her use of the word "free," Elizabeth nodded once and, after a moment's thought, kissed her cousin's cheek before she rose and slowly walked towards the now-closed door.

"Lizzy?"

The voice made her stop and lean against the doorframe for support, though she did not have the will to turn around. She waited and for a moment thought that she had simply imagined Anne calling her or that she had done so in her sleep, when suddenly the small voice noted, "Thank you."

Elizabeth nodded her head once though Anne could not see and continued into the hallway, gently shutting the door behind her. The light from the windows at either end of the hallway seemed to fill it with a radiant light, and though normally she would bask in such finery, it now threatened to blind her abused eyes and she stumbled forward, shutting them nearly completely as she felt along the wall.

After only a few more minutes and, in her dazed state, forgetting where she was even heading, Elizabeth gave up and slowly lowered herself to the floor, her back against the wall as she allowed her eyes to shut.

No sooner had they closed than she heard footsteps and the gasp of a clearly startled maid. Too tired to waste thought on it, she ignored her completely until a time - minutes, in reality, though she figured it must have been hours - later when a low voice murmured, "Elizabeth, darling? Are you well?"

Once more, she opened them a fraction and took in her husbands face, so close to her own as he knelt on one knee beside her. "I am," she murmured. "I'm just... a little... tired..."

She felt herself be lifted into the air by his gentle arms as he carried her silently to their bedroom and laid her on the bed. By the time he got there, she was already in a sleep too deep to be interrupted by him pulling the comforter from beneath her and putting it on top. He drew the curtain and blew out the lamp-candle, making the room decently dim if not dark, and kissed her forehead before exiting the room to attend to the day.

* * *

Elizabeth did not reawaken for the rest of the day, or the following night, or until the dinner the next day. Though they had simply let her sleep for the first twenty-four hours, when she did not rise with the morning the next day, it had been decided that someone was to stay with her at all times - "someone" referring to Jane (sometimes with the company of Charles) or Darcy (also sometimes with the company of one or both of them). It happened to be Darcy, as fate would have it, that was there when she did finally flicker her eyes open.

Having been doing little else but watch her, it immediately came to his attention. "Lizzy?" he asked softly, moving to sit on the bed with her. "Are you awake, my dear?"

She closed her eyes again and he feared it may have been an unconcious action to begin with and settled back down to wait. However, after another minute of this, she groggily mumbled, "I'm awake."

He ran his hand through her hair, tucking it behind an ear. "You've slept away nearly two full days."

Her eyes shot open at this new bit of information. "Truly?" she gasped. When he nodded, she bit the inside of her lip and asked, "Anne? How is she?"

"Recovering splendidly. She was weak to begin with, but the physician says that she will be back to her former strength within another day's time, and perhaps even improve further." He chuckled softly to himself.

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked apprehensively. "Was that some sort of joke?"

"No, no, not at all. However, the doctor wishes to speak with you - to find out what you did, I believe, to halt her laboring. He says you must have worked a miracle; he was certain, it seems, that she would have gone into full-fledged labor by morning and be dead by noon, but when he awoke, she slept peacefully without a lick of problem."

"Anne did very well," his wife murmured.

"She had informed us all that it was completely your doing, Elizabeth. Said you made her stronger." He paused. "For a while, there, I was afraid that you had managed to lend her your own strength and that as she got better, you would get weaker." Another chuckle, this time a bit more forced. "Stupid of me to think so, but you were so still..."

"I am awake now," she reminded him, "and in ten minutes or so I believe I am going to become as hungry as I've ever been in my life."

"Fairly so," he agreed with a wince. "This is probably the longest you've ever gone without eating in your life, as well."

He took her hand and helped her rise, her legs slightly shaky after having not been used for a good thirty-six hours. Informing her that dinner would be starting within half an hour, he set to the task of helping her dress, though she had to assist him somewhat with the order of things.

When he pulled tight her stays, he could not help but notice the color wash just a touch from her face, and recalled the scene in the church a month earlier. After a moment of deliberation, he slowly undid them, and when Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder in confusion he explained, "I think, with you as delicate as you are at the moment, that we perhaps should leave these behind."

She turned around all the way to stare at him incredulously. "Fitzwilliam, I cannot go to dinner without stays."

He considered this. "Very well, turn back, then - but I will do them as loosely as I may, and if you feel they are too tight during dinner, you must tell me. Just - bring up Georgiana or something, and that is how I will know."

"What are we - the intelligence branch of the military?" she teased lightly, but agreed never-the-less. However, from the way he pulled them taut - or rather, failed to - she was quite certain that it was impossible to have such a problem; in fact, the bigger issue might end up being that they were too loose and began to slip.

Once she was fully readied - he was already dressed, of course - he took her arm in his and led her slowly out the door. They went directly to the dining hall, as he had correctly suspected that dinner was about to start, and seated her in her seat beside Jane who nearly pulled her sister into a hug right there at the table.

"Oh," her sister whispered, "how wonderful it is to see you awake, Lizzy! We were all so worried..."

Lady Catherine, however, had other ideas. "Do you normally sleep so much, Miss Bennet?"

Darcy spoke for her. "She was up with Anne all night, aunt," he reminded her shortly.

"For a quarter of a day, perhaps. She slept for much, much longer than that - over-compensation, I believe."

"Tending to Anne was exhausting," he argued. "Even you fell asleep during it, and I am told that you were not even speaking."

The lady did not respond and Elizabeth sent her husband a gracious look, though he did not seem to be pleased by it. The moment was, thankfully, interrupted by Lord Burke, who declared, "I must thank you, Elizabeth, for whatever it was you did in there. I have been assured that if it were not for you, our Anne would have perished."

She accepted his gratitude modestly, and the dinner went on in quiet accord until it was time to retire. Though they were offered wine and discussion in the sitting room, the couple politely declined, for even though she had scarcely been awake for three hours, Elizabeth was already quite tired and ready to return to bed.

As the two undressed in their bedroom, preparing to end the night, Darcy found Elizabeth to be oddly silent in such a way that he could not credit it to fatigue. He waited until they laid beside each other before inquiring, "What ails your mind so?"

She turned to look at him in surprise. "I'm certain I don't know what you mean, Fitzwilliam."

He lifted a brow. "You've said naught but a phrase or two since we got up here. Pray tell, what are you thinking?"

Elizabeth thought about this before carefully replying, "I am just wondering... if I was doing the right thing in stalling her delivery."

Darcy's brows went up in shock. "Do you regret helping her?" Not that he could possibly argue with her if she did, especially after the way his aunt (and, if the servants' gossip was to be believed, even Anne at the time) had treated her, but it was so... un-Elizabeth.

"No, Fitzwilliam, of course not. I just wonder if I was actually helping. Wouldn't the babe be smaller now than a month from now, when she would otherwise deliver? So, in theory, it would have been easier."

"No, I think not. It was too inconvenient a time, and she was still weak with slumber, having been up and about the day before. That had been a very trying day for her in the first place, if you recall. At least now, we can have her rest up until her confinement so that she need not deal with prior exhaustion."

"I suppose that's true," she admitted, and fell silent again.

"What else do you think of?"

"I... Well, to be quite frank, I have neither forgotten nor forgiven your violence."

He grimaced. "As it should be, I dare think. I don't know what I can do to make it up to you..."

"What makes you think there is anything that could make up for such an action? Do you think a pretty necklace or charming words could account for and cancel out your previous action?"

"No, of course not, Elizabeth. Please," he pleaded, "what would you have me do? Name it and consider it done - I cannot bear to have you angry so."

She considered this for several minutes until he was convinced that she had fallen asleep and that he would have to deal with the ache in his chest for another full night. Eventually, however, she spoke up: "I would have you stop defending me against your aunt."

"What? Why do you make so foolish a request? What is your intention?"

"I have no intention. However, I believe when you argue in my favor, it only makes her resent me more."

"Elizabeth, I cannot just sit there and watch her insult - no, _attack_ - my wife."

"And yet you must if you ask my forgiveness."

He ground his teeth together, a muscle in his jaw working as he considered his options. "You ask too much," he finally told her, his tone simple.

Elizabeth shook her head. "Then you do, as well. Goodnight, Fitzwilliam." She turned over on her side so that she was no longer facing him.

"Elizabeth," he begged once more, "is there nothing else?"

"There is nothing else."

He passed a hand over his face, suddenly feeling twice his age. "All right, then. I will stop."

Darcy sensed a hesitance in her as she slowly responded, "Do I have your word? Not even in private?"

"Not even in private; you have my word."

It was another minute before she rolled back to face him and he took her gently into his arms, kissing her forehead and then her lips. She responded wanly and he realized that it was too much to ask her for such affection when she was still so tired, and so he relented his efforts and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

For those of you interested in the other story - the one Stephie and I are writing together - the second chapter should be out any day now. Steph has been terribly sick and still is a bit, but she's said she will begin working on her part sometime in the very near future.

My highest regards,

Raven, Emancipated Rebels


	6. Expected

Hello all! I know, you probably hate me right now. What excuse can I offer? There is none, to be frank. My boyfriend and I were going through some hard times which eventually led to our break up, a good three weeks ago now. Before the break up, my muse was zapped; after it, I needed some healing time. I am back now, however, and attempting to get back on track with a story I love dearly. Thank you to all those who have stuck around and waited for me, and as for any new readers, great to have you on board!

Disclaimer: I do not own Pride and Prejudice, nor any of its subsequent characters, dialogue, or plot lines.

Warning: Rated **M **for sexuality and adult themes.

* * *

Another two weeks had passed, remarkably without event, marking the Darcys' and Bingleys' time at Rosings as a solid month and.

By now, Elizabeth's pregnancy had developed such that only the truly daft or those that were not looking at her could possibly fail to recognize it - though, fortunately for them, Lady Catherine seemed to fall into one of the two categories at any given moment. Her ladyship remained entirely in the dark as to her condition, giving all of her attention to Anne.

To ensure that she did not have an abrupt revelation, the Darcys had had several new dresses delivered, easily passing it off as their failure to prepare for such a lengthy stay. The empire waistlines and sneaky use of bindings did well to disguise her protruding figure, and if anything, it looked like Lizzy had simply gained a little weight. The situation was entirely under control, and when they were not being harassed by Lady Catherine, three of the four visitors were perfectly content; the fourth, of course, being Mr. Darcy himself.

His concerns were not voiced by him, but they raged all the more for it within the walls of his own mind. He recalled Bentley's suggestion that Elizabeth be examined at the end of each month of her term. She was now at four and a half months, going on five, but the last she had been seen was at the end of her third, for the end of the fourth came around right about the same time as Anne's false labor, and since then they had been able to find no way for her to be seen without his aunt immediately thrusting her nose in the middle of it.

Elizabeth appeared fit as ever; any bouts of morning sickness she had been unfortunate enough to experience had long since subsided, as had her fainting spells. She seemed to have violent reactions to certain foods, but they had been warned of this very early on and so knew not to worry over it. Appearances, however, were not enough to placate the dramatically protective husband.

She, of course, was not as oblivious to his troubles as she appeared, and in an attempt to coax him into relaxing, suggested that he join the Bingleys for their day in town. His rejection of the idea was instant and absolute, and he insisted that he could not possibly think of doing so without her presence as well, and she was not in any sort of condition to go gallivanting about for an entire day. He was stubborn, but as ever, she was more so, and finally convinced him by announcing that she wanted to be able to visit Charlotte but did not want to leave him home along to face his dear aunt's wrath.

And so it was with great hesitance but acceptance that Darcy kissed his wife goodbye and joined Jane and Charles in their carriage, leaving Elizabeth to her own affairs.

Surprisingly, she had told the truth, and immediately got dressed and set out to visit with her dear friend. The walk was not so terribly long that she had to stop, though by the time she approached the Collins residence, Elizabeth had become curiously aware of a dull ache at the base of her back - a new occurrence, likely because she'd not done so much walking since she had become visibly pregnant.

Thankfully, she did not have to wait long at all after knocking for Charlotte to show up at the door, clearly wondering who was stopping by unannounced. A moment later, upon recognizing her, her face broke out into a grin and she thrust her arms around her taller friend.

"Lizzy!" she nearly squealed, so fervent was her delight. "Oh, how wonderful of you to stop by! It's been so long - not since the wedding, I dare say - and you've not written me in months!"

Elizabeth laughed freely as she had not since arriving at Rosings and returned Charlotte's hug. "I know, the fault is all mine. We were so busy at Pemberley, and for the past month we've been staying here with Lady Catherine -"

"Yes, I heard," Charlotte interrupted, bowing her head sadly. "We've not been to see her ladyship since they announced Anne's condition to us and did not dare arrive without invitation, though word has spread about her pains a few weeks ago... How is she fairing?"

"Quite well, all things considered," Elizabeth sighed. "The physician is staying until her confinement."

"Let's not ruin our reunion with such unpleasant thoughts," her friend decided abruptly. She took a step back. "Now, then, let's have a look at you! How is the married life treating..." she trailed off as her eyes ran over Elizabeth's abdomen, and she put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, how wonderful! You must be -"

"Shall we discuss this indoors?" Elizabeth suggested, casting an anxious glance about her. Charlotte's brows drew together.

"Why, yes, of course. How foolish of me, it is quite cold out, isn't it?" She pulled the door open, granting her friend entrance.

"Yes, but decidedly warm for November," Lizzy acknowledged, following her inside. They quickly made their way to the small parlor and sat beside each other on the couch, turned at an angle to better see each other as they spoke.

"Why did you not write and tell me?" Charlotte wanted to know, attempting to cover her hurt as she realized that she had not been informed.

"Oh, Charlotte, I meant nothing by it, I assure you!" she insisted in reply, taking one of her sad friend's hands in her own. "It is only that... Well, Lady Catherine does not know," she admitted. "We feared that Mr. Collins would see the letter and alert her, and we wish to do so on our own time."

"That is... fair, I suppose," was conceded. "But her ladyship is truly unaware? How? I knew the moment I saw you, or nearly, at least!"

Elizabeth's laugh was wry. "She has paid none of us close mind, I assure you, and if she were to discover it I'm certain it would escape her within the next moment. We prefer that it stay that way for the time being."

Charlotte nodded knowingly, giving her hand a sympathetic squeeze. "Yes, I do not blame you. Oh, but you must be so excited, Lizzy! A baby! When are you due?"

"Around the first of April, according to the physician."

"Wow," she breathed. "Can you believe it? It seems like only a short time ago we were still children, convinced we'd never marry!"

"I know - I feel as though any moment now I shall wake up and it will all have been a wonderful dream."

"I trust Mr. Darcy took the news well?" she probed.

"Quite well, in fact. We're very excited." Elizabeth's smile gentled.

"What are you hoping for? A girl or a boy?"

"I should be equally content with either, so long as they are healthy."

"Now, none of that. All parents say that for fear of saying they want the gender they do not yet!" Charlotte giggled softly. "What would you like, truly?"

To satisfy her companion, Lizzy took several moments to reconsider. "I don't care which comes first, but I believe I should like to have one of each gender."

This response seemed much more acceptable, and Charlotte went on to inquire as to whether or not they had thought of any names (they had not), if they were planning to have the family over for Christmas (they were, and in fact the Collinses were invited), and even questions regarding marital intimacies (which was met with blushes, admittances, and more often, deflections).

And even as they chattered the day away, they were unaware that there had been someone listening outside the door.

* * *

As Elizabeth made her way back home after her visit with Charlotte, she sighed contently, so happy after their day together that not even the thought of dinner with Lady Catherine could bring her down.

It was late in the afternoon, now, and the dark sky told of an impending storm. She half-hoped that it would begin to rain before she got home so that she would have an excuse to be out in, but knew that it would throw her poor husband into a fit if they were already home and he were to see her soaking wet. In the end, she resolved not to dally but to leave it up to fate - and fate decided that she ought to stay dry.

She entered the estate, directly asking Leanne if her husband and Mr. and Mrs. Bingley had returned yet, to which the answer was a tentative yes. When asked where she might find them, Elizabeth was apprehensive to note that Leanne seemed to hesitate before responding. "Last I saw, they were in the sitting room with her ladyship and Mr. Collins."

Briefly, Elizabeth wondered that she had not known he had been planning to visit, especially with Charlotte's earlier comments. Never the less and thinking all the way how odd Leanne was acting, she made her way up towards the sitting room - only to enter and find herself in the middle of a battleground.

Lady Catherine stood at the center of the room, her face flushed bright red as she glowered at none other than Mr. Darcy. Behind her stood Mr. Collins, looking utterly uncomfortable with the situation, and on the couch sat Jane while Bingley stood to the right and slightly behind Darcy.

At the sound of her entrance, all eyes turned towards her, and she felt her cheeks warm with a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. Before she could even speak, Lady Catherine answered her unspoken questions, practically lunging forward and over to her.

"What is the meaning of this?" she crowed, half mad as she locked a hand around Elizabeth's upper arm.

All she could do was blink, too stunned to return her anger. "I beg your pardon?"

"You are _withchild_? And you did not tell me when you have been living in my house for a month?"

Aware now of the bruising grip on her arm, Elizabeth tugged out of her grasp. "We were going to tell you when -"

"Do you mean to contaminate this line even further?" she interrupted. Elizabeth felt her stomach freeze over, but she did not need to ask for an explanation; she was awarded one anyway. "You have him as your husband - could you not have allowed him to sire a child by a reputable mistress? God forbid you have a boy!"

Heat replaced the cold instantly. "You are out of line," she said flatly. "Check yourself."

Lady Catherine's mouth opened and then closed again, pressed into a fine line as she whipped around to point her glare at Mr. Darcy again. "Do you have no sanity left in you?" she demanded of him. "If her child becomes your heir, the family will be permanently ruined! And listen to the way she talks to me - _me_, your aunt..."

A muscle in Darcy's jaw began to tick, the only sign of his internal struggle. He had promised Elizabeth to stay out of their affairs, but was he supposed to just sit there and watch them tear into each other? And was he honestly expected to listen to his aunt's insults and not refute them as passionately as he drew breath?

"Have you nothing to say?" her ladyship snapped.

"I have given my word that I would not," he replied through clenched teeth. "I assure you, my thoughts right now are more than enough to sustain your desire for an argument."

"Your word? Your word to who?"

"Me," Elizabeth answered for him, raising her chin boldly. "I saw no point in him becoming involved in our quarrels."

She pursed her lips. "How far along are you? Can the damage be undone?"

It took only half a moment for Elizabeth to understand what she meant, and another half before the palm of her hand connected with the older woman's skin and she ran out of the room.

* * *

When Darcy found her minutes later, she was in their bedroom, already packing various belongings unceremoniously into their trunk.

"Elizabeth?" he asked tentatively. She turned to glare at him, her cheeks shiny and streaked with tears.

"I won't stay in this insufferable house a moment longer!" she informed him, fresh tears gushing forth. "I won't!"

He came up and wrapped his arms around her, locking them there despite her attempts to wrench free.

"Let go, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth demanded. "I'm going to pack and we're - right this instant, we're going to - and we'll have to tell Jane, they'll have to get ready -" She gave up and her words broke off, interrupted by the force of her sobs as she buried her face in the safety of his chest.

Darcy was at a loss. As her normal self, yes, even then she probably would have slapped his deserving aunt; but this episode was very unlike her and concerned him greatly, though he had been warned numerous times that such uncharacteristic emotional responses would occur over the course of her pregnancy.

He rubbed her back, murmuring, "Shh, darling, of course we don't need to stay." It became something of a plea. "Don't cry. Please, calm down, it's all right - you know we'd never do anything like that, love, don't you? Please, stop crying."

Her breath hitched and at first, she seemed to be worse off for his comforting, but slowly she began to quiet as he whispered to her and stroked her hair. After a time, he softly asked, "Are you quite all right, now?"

"I am," she muttered without moving. "How could she say such a thing?"

"I don't even believe she meant it," Darcy assured her. "She likely only said it because she knew it would get to you. But... may I ask you something, Elizabeth?" She nodded her head instead of voicing her reply, so he continued, "How in the world did Mr. Collins find out?"

"I haven't a clue," Elizabeth told him in earnest. "I was talking to Charlotte about it, but I didn't think anyone else was home... And she couldn't have told him after I left or I'd have beat him here."

"He must have heard you, then." Though she couldn't see his face, she heard the frown in his voice.

"He's the one who told her?" she sighed. It was more of a statement than a question, so her husband did not bother responding to it.

When a crack of thunder sounded, he asked softly and almost amusedly, "Do you think we could postpone our journey back home until the morning?"

Elizabeth hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, I suppose that's for the best..." A small twinge of guilt poked at the back of her mind, but she shoved it back.

At least, she did so for about fifteen seconds before Leanne came bustling in, short of breath. "The doctor sent for you," she gasped out. "He says Lady Anne is in labor."

Her pause was so brief it was barely detectable. Despite the question in her husband's eyes, she kissed his cheek, wiped her own to rid them of the drying tears, and followed her back to Anne's room.

For a short while, the thunder managed to drown out her cousin-in-law's screams.

* * *

It did not go as poorly as everyone had assumed.

The labor itself only lasted seven hours; "only" being the term used because it had been expected that it would go on until she died. Instead, she gave birth to a boy - a small, sickly thing, but it squalled as babies should and appeared no worse for wear. Anne herself was barely alive, but that was much more than anyone had expected. And, in the panic and excitement of it all, all thoughts of the newest soon-to-be addition to the Darcy family were eliminated from Lady Catherine's mind.

In fact, it was Elizabeth herself that was the worst off of them all - a fact that Darcy noticed as she crawled into bed at nine in the morning to finally get to sleep. Her face was drawn and yellow in pallor, and the circles under her eyes did not seem to be entirely the result of fatigue. And, as he watched her lay there with her eyes closed, he noticed that she was not actually asleep, even an hour later; she was simply laying there.

Unable to handle the ignorant silence, Darcy finally and spontaneously inquired, "Did something happen?"

Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open, but she did not turn to look at him. "No," she answered simply.

His chest clenched painfully at his hopelessness. "What's wrong, Elizabeth? Surely you can tell me?"

This time, she rolled onto her side to face him, and he drew her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. It was at least a minute before she answered him.

"I was not previously aware..." she trailed off for a moment before picking it up again, "... how, exactly, an infant makes its entrance."

Darcy blinked, dumbfounded as it occurred to him that he did not know, either. Then again, a man who did know was rare; it was generally left to be a woman's subject, not a place for a man other than a doctor to have any knowledge on. It did, however, surprise him that she had been equally unaware.

"We never had need to know," Elizabeth added, answering his question without requiring him to ask it. "Many girls don't find out until only a month or two before their confinement with their first. I suppose I was to be one of them."

He was at a loss for what to say, but slowly, something began to gnaw away at him internally. "Is it really so horrible?" he asked, looking down at her even as he fought back the anxiety.

"It is... nothing I would have wished for on my own." Though she was upset, she was more than capable of recognizing when her husband was fretting, and when it came to something like this that he could do nothing to help, she saw little point in allowing him to suffer. "It is not as bad as I'm making it sound, Fitzwilliam. I'm simply melodramatic from deprivation of sleep."

"If you're certain," he relented slowly, brooding. For a moment, he entertained the idea that he might do some research on the matter; and then he banished it immediately. He would rather not know, he decided, for he knew well enough that it involved blood and pain, and he feared that if he were to find out the intricate details, he would spend the second half of her term worrying himself ill.

* * *

They stayed for another week and a half or so, careful to stay out of the direct path of Lady Catherine and only to ensure that Anne and her child, who had been named Adam, were in good health. They did not speak again of her previous claim to leave that day, and it was mutually understood that it was a night to be permanently secured in the past.

This time, however, the trip was made in two parts, despite its short distance. Elizabeth was twice the size she had been when they had first arrived, and even Jane agreed that it was best if they stay in a hotel for the night. Annoyed but already tired by the time they were halfway there, she relented, and they arrived home the next day to an onslaught of letters from Elizabeth's numerous family members.

She wrote back quickly, conscious of how long they all must have been waiting for a response, and invited everyone - the Gardiners, her parents and sisters, even the Wickhams - to visit Pemberly and spend Christmas there. They were sent out before the day was through, a fact she found comfort in.

Darcy, himself, wrote a letter (albeit hesitantly) to his aunt, inviting her to come only on her best behavior, and welcomed the Burkes as well if Anne was fit to travel by then. Georgiana was to return as well for the holiday, and with the Collins included, it would make for quite the packed house.

For good measure, he added a letter to Bentley, requesting him to please come examine Elizabeth at his earliest convenience. He collected Elizabeth's letters as well, spending just a moment too long staring at the one with the Wickhams' names printed on it before he passed them on to Mrs. Reynolds to be seen to.

When he finally got up to bed, he found that Elizabeth was already there, nestled up with a favorite book. Darcy undressed quickly and she set her book on the nightstand as he joined her, pulling the comforter up over them both to ward off the frigid winter night.

"Fitzwilliam?" her quiet voice spoke, just as he was on the border between awake and asleep.

"Hmm?" he replied without so much as opening his mouth (or his eyes, for that matter).

"You don't think... Do you think we'll be good parents?"

He kissed her forehead, and though she was uncertain if that was his answer or if he was simply too tired to try to comprehend her question, it had the same effect, and she snuggled closer as she herself drifted to sleep.

* * *

It's not my longest chapter and it might not have been as good as the others - understand, it'll take me a while to get back into the swing of it. Hopefully, however, it was enough to satiate you and end your two-month-long suffering! Don't forget to review and tell me your thoughts.

My highest regards,

Raven, Emancipated Rebels


	7. Liar

Disclaimer: I do not own Pride and Prejudice, nor any of its subsequent characters, dialogue, or plot lines.

Warning: Rated **M **for sexuality and adult themes.

* * *

Her first Christmas at Pemberley was very different from all those spend as a child, Elizabeth mused, but this was not necessarily a fact of disagreeable nature. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and the second to last of their guests had arrived - the Gardiners. She kissed her aunt's cheek and allowed her to exclaim for a while about baby-related things before her uncle carted her off to socialize with her parents.

The moment they were out of sight, however, Elizabeth retreated to the stair case and sat down, her hand going to the small of her back. She was very quickly approaching her sixth month, and rather than glowing and adapting to the condition, she seemed to be succumbing to it; she constantly found herself exhausted, sometimes asleep before dinner was served. To combat this, her husband had arranged for them to eat an hour earlier, but even then she often found she simply could not remain awake that long.

Since they had returned home a month earlier, Mr. Darcy had insisted that her appointments with the physician be not once a month but twice, and had practically interrogated the man in regards to why his wife seemed to be carrying so poorly. Bentley had no further explanation other than that it simply happened with some women, and though it was worrisome, it didn't seem to be serious. Elizabeth was large for this stage, but not overly so, he assured them.

As she mulled this over, Elizabeth leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Another person sat down beside her, and she ascertained that it was Jane without opening her eyes; only two people were capable of being that quiet, and her husband would have been much louder sitting down. Her sister's hand moved down to massage her back and Elizabeth made no protest, sighing softly.

"Oh, Lizzy," she murmured, resting her chin on her sister's shoulder. "I do hate to see you like this. Perhaps you should retire for a while."

"It would do no good," Elizabeth sighed, hating to complain but finding herself momentarily unable to help it. "I would rise just as tired as when I laid down, I fear."

"I think it would be better not to hold the Christmas party, Lizzy. You're in no condition for it."

She shook her head. "No, that wouldn't do. Nearly everyone has already arrived, we've already made all of the preparations... It's only another two days, I can do it."

Jane's eyes looked over her sister for several moments and came to the conclusion that she was not so confident, but she made no further comment and leaned over to kiss her sister's forehead. "You needn't join us until you're ready, everyone is busying themselves in the parlor."

Receiving merely a nod in response, Jane rose and returned to the others, her eyes meeting with her brother-in-law's to convey a silent message. He seemed to understand and attempted to wrap up his conversation with Mr. Gardiner on the practicality of purchasing and reselling an estate when Elizabeth appeared in the doorway, apparently having decided she hadn't needed long after all to rest on the stairs.

This provided an acceptable purpose for excusing himself, but even as he stood to move towards her, a loud knock at the door sounded the appearance of the very last of their arrivals.

"It must be Lydia!" Mrs. Bennet cried gleefully. Georgiana, who had previously been involved in a lovely discussion with Mrs. Collins, seemed to tense, but no one particularly noticed; no one had seen the Wickhams since their marriage.

Elizabeth made for the door and Darcy followed, quickly catching up with her as the rest stayed behind, actively conversing and wondering what might have changed about the youngest of the Bennet brood.

Before she could reach the entrance to let them in, he grasped her upper arm in his hand, pulling her back gently.

"Elizabeth," he said, lowering his lips to her forehead. "This is too much for you, you should go to bed."

"It's barely three," she argued. With the ghost of a smile, she added, "If this was supposed to be easy, everyone would have more children."

He lips quirked up in slight relief at the hint of her old self, something he'd not seen for quite some time. "You'd tell me if you need to lie down?"

She capitulated that he would, but he did not believe her and made a mental reminder to keep checking on her. He pressed his lips to her knuckles and released her, following at her side and opening the door to greet his in-laws.

"Lizzy!" Lydia trilled, the very moment the door was open. The sisters regarded each other in shock for several moments.

"Is that... your son?" Elizabeth asked in slight disbelief, gesturing to the young boy in her arms who was perhaps just under a year old.

Distracted from her appraisal for the shortest of moments, Lydia grinned and said, "Yes, isn't he darling? We named him William - William Wickham, doesn't it have a nice ring to it? I probably should have written you all, but, well, I figured seeing him in person would be a better solution, and then the time just seemed to escape me..."

As she prattled on, the two men regarded each other coolly, Darcy's eyes boring into that of his brother-in-law until the man had no choice but to look away. Only with Lydia's abrupt inquiry as to whether they were to be allowed inside did the couple step aside, allowing them entrance, and then shut the door.

Once they were standing in the entrance, Lydia seemed to recall her initial thoughts. "Goodness, Lizzy! Not quite six months by now, aren't you? Oh, you look absolutely dreadful!"

Elizabeth smiled wryly. "That was not my intention, I assure you."

"Yes, well, of course not. I can't understand - I carried far better than you are, though you do seem to be just a little larger than I was. Wouldn't you say, George?"

Mr. Wickham, looking thoroughly uncomfortable, nodded once. "Yes, I think so."

Lydia nodded in return, satisfied. "Yes, definitely. Won't you show me in, Lizzy? Is everyone here? I haven't seen anyone in so long..."

And so it went on as the four of them returned to the sitting room, everyone so engrossed in conversation that Darcy never noticed when Elizabeth excused herself and Mr. Wickham followed only minutes later.

* * *

"Elizabeth!" her former suitor called out. She halted at the top of the stairs, having taken quite some time to get up them. He had reached her in seconds.

"Yes?" she replied, clearing her throat. She had to be polite, she reminded herself. He was her guest now, and her brother-in-law.

"I was hoping I might have a word with you," he murmured, offering a charming smile. Elizabeth recognized it well, and attempted to rid herself of the nauseous feeling it brought her.

"Is something the matter?" she wanted to know, trying to keep her tone light.

"No, of course not," he announced, shaking his head. "I merely wanted to know how good it was to see you again. Pregnancy suits you."

Elizabeth felt her cheeks grow warm for two reasons: first, that a man that was not her husband, doctor, or father had commented on so delicate a matter; and second, that the very statement gave away the fact that he had underlying intentions. She knew very well that she looked horrid, that it did not suit her in the least. He was clearly grasping at something to compliment her with.

"Thank you," she said warily. There was a pause.

"Lydia was incredibly excited to learn we had been invited here. She misses you dreadfully, and I'm sure she could not have passed up the opportunity even if she hadn't. She's always loved the idea of living in luxury, of course, but what with the financial hardship we've been having..." He allowed his voice to trail off.

Elizabeth abruptly felt altogether exhausted. Money. Of course that was what he wanted; what else? Uncertain how best to deal with the situation, she did not respond.

"Actually, we were wondering if we might borrow a few pounds," he prompted. "I know you two are quite well-off, and we certainly wouldn't request enough to put any strain on you."

She closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. "Did my husband not pay you a handsome sum when the two of you married?" she wanted to know. "I was told it was more than enough for you to live comfortably on."

He sighed as if in regret. "Yes, but you know Lydia. It was all spent within the first year, of course."

Recalling her sister's blissfully carefree attitude earlier, she doubted that was truly the cause. Lydia was a fool, of course, but her husband would never have let her spend all of that money.

"Surely you understand why I cannot simply sign my husband's money over to you," she reasoned, already sick of the entire conversation.

"Yes, yes, I know." He sounded every bit as reasonable as she did; it was making her stomach churn. "I made a mistake with Georgiana, as you've most likely heard about by now. Back when I was younger - so many other mistakes I made, too..."

He waited for her to reply, and when she did not, he went on.

"But, well, I fear we may not even be able to put food on the table for the rest of this winter. And William is so very expensive - we cut corners where we can, but of course it's not enough. And Lydia's been wanting a new dress; she always has loved big, extravagant ones such as the one you wear." He gestured to her emerald satin down with a generous empire waist that did little to hide her protruding abdomen but at least made it more tasteful.

She felt herself giving in. He was playing on her weaknesses, and of course she recognized the fact - even doubted its authenticity. More likely, he wanted some extra gambling money, or had something else he wanted to fund. But what if he was speaking the truth? The back of her mind was nagging at her. She could not simply allow her sister and nephew to starve because of this man's carelessness.

"How much do you think you'll need?" she wanted to know.

He seemed to consider this, but she recognized the look in his eyes. He already knew exactly how much he wanted. "I think two-hundred pounds should do nicely," he suggested.

She felt her mouth fall open. Two-hundred pounds? That much? "That's far more than a couple," she muttered. It was a debt, then, obviously - nothing he could plan on doing otherwise could possibly cost him so much. While it would not even prove to be a noticeable dent in the Darcy income, still she hesitated. She didn't plan on taking her husband's money, anyway. She had her savings, after all.

"One-hundred fifty," she countered, closing her eyes again for a moment. That would take nearly all of what she had accumulated over the years, but she tried to tell herself it was for a good cause. "That should be more than enough to last you through the winter, as you say."

The silence that met her told her he was considering again, and then he finally said, "All right, yes, that should do. Is there anyway to get it in pounds? I'm afraid a cheque wouldn't be preferable..."

It was at this point that Mr. Darcy reached the bottom of the stairs, having noticed approximately a minute earlier that they both were missing and putting it together almost immediately.

"I don't know if that would be possible," she said simply, oblivious to her husband's presence until he called up to her. She turned down to look at him, startled, as he climbed his way up, and Mr. Wickham sent him a nervous glance.

"What are you doing?" Darcy wanted to know, his eyes narrowing as he absorbed Wickham's anxiety.

"We were simply having a talk. Catching up," the man provided, smiling again. "And now I must get back to my wife, I'm afraid. It was a lovely discussion, Elizabeth. I hope to talk to you again soon." He nodded his head and left, leaving Darcy to glare after him before turning back to his wife.

"You look like you'll fall asleep on your feet," he told her quietly, all thoughts of Wickham put behind him. Elizabeth flinched at the small, nearly indistinguishable note of pain his voice.

"I'm fine. I was on my way to retire, actually, but I was... interrupted."

He took her into his arms and placed a kiss on her neck, sighing. It seemed that for every day that went by, his concern only increased, and it was putting a formidable distance between them - he was at loathe to allow her to see it. She leaned into his chest and for several moments they simply stood there, him running his hand through her hair and her breathing in the scent of him, before he slowly escorted her to their room and set her up in bed. It brought an entire new meaning to asleep before her head hit the pillow - he was convinced she was asleep before she touched the bed.

* * *

The news that Elizabeth would not be joining them for dinner didn't seem to shock anyone too terribly; the guests that had been there for a few days knew by know that it was nearly every other day that she went to sleep early. Though on nights without company, Darcy made a point to bring food to her and coax her to eat as much as possible before sleeping again, tonight Jane took that duty so that he could properly entertain their guests - something he absolutely despised. He was not a sociable man.

However, it seemed to go smoothly, up until everyone stood up to leave. It was at this point that he decided the moment was ideal to speak with Wickham and find out exactly what the man had wanted with his wife. He called him aside and, though the man looked reasonably horrified, he complied, staying behind while everyone else relocated.

"What is it that Elizabeth deemed impossible?" Darcy wanted to know, quoting the only snippet of conversation that he had heard.

Wickham regarded him silently and appeared to wonder if he was being tested - after all, he very much doubted that Elizabeth would lie to her husband for his sake. And at this point, a very, very cruel idea formed in his mind. "Paying me in pounds rather than a cheque," he told him honestly.

To his credit, only the tick in his jaw gave away Darcy's reaction. "And why would she be paying you at all?" he wanted to know. "I gave you more than enough. Could it be you've gambled it all away already?"

Wickham's eyes tightened, but he smiled instead of glaring. "She understands the circumstances," he explained. "And she agreed."

His hand closed into a fist at his side at the idea of his wife giving even a penny to the horrid man, but he trusted her judgment, and so he merely asked, "Why? What motivation did she have?"

Eyes sparkling, the man responded very simply, "Perhaps there's something she wants kept a secret," a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Darcy froze.

Fancying himself having the upper hand, Wickham turned on his heel to walk out, but didn't expect to be up against the wall with his brother-in-law's forearm against his throat before he could take even a step.

"What could she possibly need _you_ to keep private?" the larger man snarled.

Eyes wide, Wickham did his best to coldly demand, "Release me."

"George?"

Both heads turned to see Lydia standing in the doorway of the dining room, staring at them.

"George?" she repeated. "Is there something... the matter?"

No longer having a choice, Darcy released him, letting him slide the several inches to the ground. "No," he said, answering for him. "We were simply having a disagreement, I'm sorry you had to see that."

Lydia's eyes moved anxiously between their faces, and she didn't reply but instead backed up, her eyes flickering towards the stairs.

Darcy sighed. "We've settled the matter now, there's nothing to worry about. Please don't mention it to Elizabeth, it would only cause her undue stress."

Her eyes shot back to him, and the young woman was clearly unnerved at having had her thoughts read by her steely brother-in-law. "Yes, of course," she said, but he was not entirely convinced and decided he'd best keep a watch out for _both_ Wickhams now, to make sure they weren't alone with her.

"Well - shall we be going, then, George? Mother was saying she wants to compare William between us, to see whose nose he has..."

He nodded once and, as she turned and began walking back to the parlor, he followed suit, casting a glance back at Darcy just before exiting the room and finding him still in the same spot, his eyes nearly electric with the intensity they used to scowl at him. He smirked, a simple quirk of his lips, and then walked out.

* * *

Not my longest chapter, sorry. I thought about adding to it, but this seemed like an appropriate place to stop. Not too bad of a cliffhanger, I hope - I hate them, myself. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to let me know what you think!

My highest regards,

Raven, Emancipated Rebels


End file.
